


Dark Paradise

by heathcliff96



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark, Drunk Sex, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, Pride and Prejudice References, Sex, Sexual Harassment, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathcliff96/pseuds/heathcliff96
Summary: A Horcrux, time-travel and a Gryffindor witch - Hermione finds herself stranded in 1944, completely alone and afraid, with a young Dark Lord at the beginning of his ascension to power. The shadow of Grindelwald looms over the Wizarding World, and as a new threat faces Hogwarts, Hermione must find a way to get back to her time or become embroiled in politics, dark magic and obsession, and risk having her heart torn in two.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 99
Kudos: 182





	1. The Vanishing Cabinet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys :) This is my first Tomione FanFiction, so do be gentle with me please ;) I hope you enjoy this story. It will be a pretty long read (I think), so stick around if that's your sort of thing.
> 
> A few points about characterisation:
> 
> 1) No purely fluffy/Dark Toms. I find 100% dark evil Tom incredibly dull. For me, Tom Riddle is not the adult Lord Voldemort. Throughout the Harry Potter series, JK Rowling tells us that actions have consequences, particularly acts of dark magic, and that these actions affect the soul. At this point, Tom Riddle has committed two murders, and split his soul twice. He is, however, still very much human, and someone who has an emotional connection to Hogwarts and who has yet to push the boundaries of magic in the way he does later in his twenties. He does not have the single-faceted personality he will grow up to possess.
> 
> 2) Hermione will, of course, change throughout the story - this is natural for anyone subject to difficult and emotional circumstances. However, she will not lose herself in this story. This means that whilst Hermione will make mistakes and morally questionable choices, she will not lose her very essence. 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Heathcliff96

**Battle of Hogwarts: 2nd May 1998**

‘You bitch!’

Hermione missed Bellatrix’s killing curse by a split second as she dived to her side and crashed into a pile of broken down furniture. She ignored the pain of the impact as she steadily collected herself off the ground and stood up once more to face the maniacal witch before her. Bellatrix was standing around fifteen feet away from her, and she looked like an infernal incarnation of some form. Dressed head to toe in black, her unruly black hair was spread around her head like a demonic halo, and her eyes were filled with pure and unadulterated bloodlust. She observed how Bellatrix’s dilated pupils engulfed her eyes in black pools of darkness, contrasting starkly with her deathly pale skin. If Bellatrix weren’t so abominable, she might even be beautiful. 

Panic stricken, Hermione looked around at the chaotic evil that surrounded her. The Room of Requirement was barely recognisable. Harry and Ron were both fighting a Death Eater each – Harry against Dolohov, and Ron against Mulciber – and other friends were helping too. She felt a cold hand clamp itself on her heart. The cries of the wounded resounded loudly in her ears. If she closed her eyes, she could see the terrible sights of the Great Hall, and how the place she had once called home had turned into a cemetery.

Bellatrix looked formidable. Her heavily lidded eyes were black as night, the thrill of the chase and the intoxication of dark magic rife within them. Hermione sensed the dark witch’s magic lunge for her and furiously rip at her skin.

Hermione swallowed and managed to back away from Bellatrix, who was sporting a demented smile that fitted her face – her mad, rotten face – so well.

'Give it to me!'

Hermione’s grasp on the object in her bloodied hand tightened. It was Ravenclaw's diadem. She had almost died to protect the wretched thing, and there was no way in Hell she was going to give it up.

The sound of Ron’s screams swiftly brought Hermione out of her stupor. She looked over to her right in time to see Ron narrowly miss a c_ruciatus_. Luckily, Harry had pulled him out of the way just in time. Fear gripped Hermione as she realised that all three of them would most likely die tonight.

Her attention snapped to the diadem in her hands. _All this carnage_, Hermione wanted to scream, _for a bloody tiara. _Her thumb rubbed against its smooth texture, the diadem cold against her clammy hand. As she did so, she felt a jolt of energy spread through her like wildfire. Shaking, she raised her wand at the monster in front of her.

_Sectumsempra_, she thought furiously, her sweaty brow furrowed in concentration. Her magic channelled itself through her wand and sped towards Bellatrix in a stream of crimson, hitting her squarely in the chest. Bellatrix screamed as her hands attempted in vain to cover the gaping bloody hole that was now forming in her chest. It had been her first completely successful hit in half an hour.

Instead of crumbling to the ground, however, Hermione watched in awe and horror as Bellatrix’s bloodcurdling screams turned into hysterical laughter. Cackling with perverse glee, Bellatrix used a hand to smear her entire face with her own blood, and proceeded to lick her lips. Hermione wretched.

‘Mmm,’ Bellatrix grinned, a deranged smile forming on her face. ‘I do love the taste of blood. Reminds me I’m _alive_.’ She quickly waved her wand over her gaping hole, and the blood soon congealed; although Hermione noted with somewhat short-lived satisfaction that the hole wasn’t fully closing. _Snape had his uses_, Hermione thought darkly. She closed her eyes for a split second and tried to calm her raging magic down. She expertly channelled her emotions – although by Merlin was it _hard_ – and concentrated her power into her wand.

_Confringo_, Hermione thought as she slashed her wand through the air. Bellatrix’s grin soon vanished as she blocked the spell and retaliated with a string of dark curses that would have made lesser witches fall to the ground dead.

‘Now,’ snarled Bellatrix, as the two witches continued throwing curses at each other and evading them with considerable skill, ‘I won’t ask you again. Give. Me. That. _Diadem.’_

‘Dream on,’ Hermione bit out.

A shadow passed over Bellatrix’s face. In that moment, Hermione forgot she was in the presence of another human being. It was incredible, looking at the effects of malice so twisted and mangled that it was something _beyond _evil. There was a lust for destruction and death that rivalled the Dark Lord’s.

‘Then,’ Bellatrix whispered softly, although her voice carried through the noises emitted by her fellow classmates as they fought with others, ‘I shall have to force your hand.’

Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw Bellatrix raise her wand and wave it in a horribly familiar motion. Hermione recognised it as the _Obliquo_ curse. If it reached its target, the curse would cause her limbs to spasm and twist unnaturally - it was like the _Cruciatus_, but more localised.

_'__Praesidio tenebris!_’ Hermione screamed. She felt the power of Bellatrix’s curse smash heavily against her shield, causing her almost to topple over. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she gripped her wand with all the strength she had left. 

It was at that moment that Hermione caught sight of it. There, in the corner of the Room, a few feet away from where they were fighting and covered in dust, was the Vanishing Cabinet that Malfoy had used in their sixth year to smuggle his demented aunt and all of her friends into Hogwarts.

To her astonishment, it was still very much intact, despite all the curses being flung around it. An idea instantly came to her. If she could get to it, she might be able to vanish to safety and destroy the Horcrux without interruption. This, of course, was all predicated on the idea that the Vanishing Cabinet was in perfect working condition and wouldn’t trap Hermione in a perpetual void of nothingness.

Hermione’s eyes darted from Bellatrix to the Vanishing Cabinet. Could she make it? It was close, but Bellatrix was regaining speed and energy, despite the ugly gash still visible on her chest. _How is that even possible, _Hermione thought irately as she watched Bellatrix throw a hoard of curses her way, which she dodged just in time.

She had to make a decision now. Bellatrix's strength was regaining.

‘You filthy Mudblood!’ Bellatrix shrieked. ‘How dare you touch that which the Dark Lord covets? You. Will. PAY!’

The Avada Kedavra missed Hermione by an inch.

It was now or never.

Hermione brandished her wand in one fluid motion and cast her mind on the spell she had invented in sixth year. It was a nifty little spell and wouldn’t ordinarily be suited to the rage of war, but what it lacked in raw power it made up in cleverness.

_Dearmo ab aspectu._

Hermione noted in satisfaction at Bellatrix’s momentary confusion. The spell tricked its victim into perceiving more than one version of the person who'd cast it, and would magically divert their attention to the replica. Bellatrix's eyes kept slipping from the real Hermione to her "doppelgänger", although Hermione noticed Bellatrix was doing well at retaining a significant amount of her concentration on the real version. 

Hermione took her chance. She leapt towards the Vanishing Cabinet, and yanked the door open. As soon as she entered, the diadem began to scald Hermione's hand. Wincing in pain, she looked down and saw in horror that the Horcrux had started to emit a black smoke-like entity inside the cabinet. It eventually grew so thick that it had completely clouded Hermione's sight. She could sense its evil surrounding and choking her.

Then the cabinet began to shake. The last thing Hermione saw through the smoke was the sight of Bellatrix running towards her in fury. Hermione quickly slammed the door shut before Bellatrix could reach her.

‘No! Stop!’ Bellatrix screamed as she tore open the Vanishing Cabinet with a force of dark magic. But it was no use.

Hermione had vanished.


	2. The Devil's Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Sorry about the wait (although I'm sure you all had better things to do than wait around for my rubbish lol). Hope you like it!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Heathcliff96

Hermione’s head was throbbing like mad. The vanishing cabinet had stopped shaking, finally, and the black smoke or whatever the hell it was had subsided. Hermione's ears were still ringing from the chaos of the Battle; her heart beating furiously against her chest. It was pitch black inside the cabinet, and dead silent. Blood trickled down Hermione's forehead, wetting her upper lip and tasting metallic in her mouth. Slowly closing her eyes, she began to breathe in and out, steadily and rhythmically, trying to soothe the excruciating pain in her head. It hurt so much that for one brief moment she wondered if something were attempting to dig its way out of her.

‘I’ve officially lost it,’ Hermione murmured to herself. She continued to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm her emotions and allow herself some much needed time to think before she braved the outside world. She didn't know where to even begin with destroying the Horcrux. And even if she did, the first task was getting through Borgin & Burkes unnoticed by Voldemort sympathisers. And, to top it all off, the smoke had made her woozy, and her hand was still burning from when –

The diadem!

_Please don't be lost please don't be lost please don't be lost - _

She immediately knelt down and blindly reached out with her hands to locate the diadem, praying that it hadn’t been lost in transit. Her hand brushed against something metallic and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was no longer burning like it had when she'd leapt into the cabinet, so she swiftly grabbed it before it had the chance to leak any more dark substances, and waved her wand wordlessly over it. Now, in the glow of the wand light, a beautiful silver ring with a glittering sapphire gemstone appeared in place of the diadem. If Hermione didn't know it was a Horcrux, she might think it stunning. However, as soon as she put it on her finger, she felt the darkness of the Horcrux weigh down on her like an anvil on her chest. There was no way she could wear it constantly; she'd have to find a way to destroy it as soon as she could. 

Now it was time to venture outside. 

Hermione gulped uneasily. The lack of noise really was eerie. It had never been the liveliest of places, but this was too quiet even for a shop as shady as Borgin and Burkes. A sense of dread snaked its way through her. Something just didn't feel right. The black smoke, the violent shaking of the vanishing cabinet, the unnatural silence...She gripped her wand with her right hand and raised it in front of her. She'd most likely have to fight her way through the blasted shop. Reluctantly, Hermione placed her other hand on the cabinet's handle, and opened the door. 

Hermione's mouth fell open.

It was the Room of Requirement. Right where she had started. Only instead of the scene of violence and devastation that she’d left, it was as if nothing had ever occurred. There was no evidence of the battle. No bodies littered about the place. No Death Eaters brandishing their wands threateningly towards her. No Bellatrix. The scene before her made zero sense. Fear gripped at Hermione tightly and mercilessly. 

Willing herself, she ventured into the Room of Requirement - or, more precisely, the Room of Hidden Things. She cast a _lumos_ and turned around to examine her surroundings properly. There was cluttered mess galore; piles of throwaway objects creating a small landslide, stacks of gold and silver thingamabobs gathering dust in the far corners, old tomes lying in wait of a reader. She noticed it was slightly emptier than she remembered it. 

Still reeling from shock, Hermione shook her head in frustration. _Pull yourself together!_ There was surely a reasonable - well, at least not improbable - explanation as to why it seemed she'd ended up in some sort of parallel universe. Hermione knew that when in doubt, she could always rely on her cool logic and trusty intellect. This was just another research project. All she had to do was investigate thoroughly, and she'd get her answer. And there was _always _an answer. You just had to know where to look. 

Her eyes caught sight of the door. The door that would, ordinarily, lead to the seventh floor corridor. 

Each step she took towards it was laboured, as though she’d aged about fifty years. This was unmarked territory for Hermione. During the Battle she'd been scared, sure, but she always knew roughly what to expect - a curse here, a near miss from death there. But _this _\- Hermione looked around once more, swallowing hard - was something new. Something seemingly irrational. Hermione felt a sense of foreboding, and it made her uneasy.

She halted before the door. Twice she put her hand on the handle, and twice she faltered. It felt like opening the door would lead her plunging into an abyss, deeper and darker than anything she'd ever encountered, and without any hope of escape. Or maybe that was just the exhaustion talking. Almost as if attempting to egg her on, a sharp pain shot through her hand. She glanced down and saw an ugly burn had formed there from when the diadem had singed her.

Hermione twisted the handle. The door opened.

Peering her head from inside, she cautiously looked around. She was definitely inside Hogwarts. It was dark, the only light source coming from her wand, and there was nobody around. The stillness was maddening.

Casting a _lumos maxima_, she lifted her wand up to the walls.

'Put that light out!' An elderly man with a long black beard from inside one of the portraits glared. 

'Sorry,' Hermione mumbled quickly, lowering her wand. Her voice bounced off the corridor walls in a string of echoes. Ignoring the grumblings of the other portraits, she set off down the corridor. She made her way onwards, ignoring the hammering of her heart, with a steely resolve to understand just exactly what was going on. Hermione was a Gryffindor, after all.

After a few minutes of wandering around, she came to a halt. The corridors, the paintings, the classrooms, everything looked mostly like the Hogwarts she'd just left, except for a few minor differences - a painting less here, a paining more there...

Hermione felt bile rise in her throat.

_Focus. _

She reached the stairwell. Thankfully, none of the staircases were moving. She placed one foot on the step...

'Who's there?'

Hermione gave a small scream. She spun around quickly towards the direction of the voice, and almost tripped and toppled backwards down the stairs. Her wand fell to the ground, the light extinguishing. Flushed, Hermione frantically steadied herself with one hand on the bannister, grabbed her wand and turned to face the shadowy figure before her. Fear flooded her veins. It was clearly a man, although his features were distorted in the darkness. He cast a _lumos _and held his wand up high. 

Hermione stared. The man in question was quite young, most likely in his early to mid twenties. He was also, admittedly, very good-looking; he had piercing blue eyes, a strong jawline and thick, wavy blond hair that was brushed backwards. He was wearing glittering emerald green robes and a dark blue waistcoat. His eyes narrowed at Hermione. 

'Who are you?' he asked again, this time sharper than before. Hermione could detect a slight accent, although she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

'I'm - I'm -

What was she even supposed to say?

'I won't ask again. What's your name?' 

'Hermione,' she replied feebly, feeling faint. She instantly regretted using her real name.

'Hermione what?' probed the man questioningly, although Hermione noted his expression had lost some of its aggression. 

She couldn't very well just give away her surname. It was clear this man didn't recognise her as one member of the famous _Golden Trio_, which was already unusual. That and the fact that she was at Hogwarts - yes, there was no question about it - but at the same time, not Hogwarts, if that made any sense, which of course _it didn't. _ Hermione was usually very good and thinking on her feet, but she stood frozen in place. 

'Not a talker, eh?' continued the man before her. He stepped closer. 'Good grief,' he exclaimed all of a sudden, his eyes widening in surprise. 'What in Merlin's name happened to you?' Hermione presumed his surprise was in reference to all the bruises, cuts and scars that were currently gracing her ashen face. 

When Hermione didn't answer, the man rolled his eyes. 

'Right,' he said annoyedly, 'I'm taking you to see the Headmaster. Move along, now,' he barked suddenly, waving his wand warningly in Hermione's face.

'H-headmaster?' stammered Hermione. Snape was fighting along with the rest of the Death Eaters -

'Armando Dippet,' replied the man sternly. 

It was though time had stopped. Everything around her slowed down. The man in front of her faded from view. All she saw was haze. 

Nothing - _nothing - _could have prepared her for this. Fending off Bellatrix seemed preferable to her right now. She glimpsed at how the man's eyes widened in surprise just before she sagged to the ground.

'Hermione? Hermione, are you alright?' The man's voice was laced with concern, although Hermione paid little heed. 

_It was 1998 less than an hour ago. This is impossible...impossible...impossible...time travel this far back goes against every law of magic...I read all about it, I'm sure, chapter four in _The Concept of Time, _it said so...it said..._

She felt a pair of strong arms hoist her up from the ground, tearing her away from her frantic and confused thoughts. 

Hermione's eyes kept closing. Exhaustion and anxiety were draining any strength she'd previously had left out of her. Her throbbing head was killing her. She heard the blond man swear under his breath as she slumped back down. 

'No, no, come on, Hermione, stay with me -' 

But it was no use. She tried to open her eyes that had previously been shut so tightly she thought she’d never be able to see again. But when she tried to open them, there were black spots circling her vision. Hermione tried to open them even wider, terrified that those black spots would engulf her as they continued to get bigger, obscuring the blond wizard who was desperately trying to heave her towards the Hospital Wing, covering the last bit of light she could see, until at last she gave in, allowing the darkness to swallow her whole.

* * *

Hermione awoke in the Hospital Wing. 

The sudden change of environment startled her. Her vision was hazy, but she could just about make out where she was. Her headache was gone, too. Wincing, she sat up in her bed and craned her neck to see around her. The man who had brought her was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, a middle-aged, brown haired witch dusting some of the other beds in the ward. She was wearing Mediwitch robes, and had her back to Hermione.

She shuffled a bit, causing the mattress to screech. At the sound of this, the woman turned around.

‘Ah, you’ve woken up. You were gone a long time.’ The woman had a soft, kind voice that managed to soothe Hermione’s growing unrest. She hurried over to where Hermione was, and reached for her bedside table. On it was a old silver goblet with a very unappealing, brown-looking liquid. She wrinkled her nose as she recognised the Revitalising Drought.

‘No time to be picky. I brewed it myself! That’s it, drink up…’

Hermione grimaced but chose to brave the contents of the potion, and swallowed it whole. She had other things to worry about anyway.

Hermione fell back on her pillow and groaned. What was going on? Something drastic must have occurred between jumping into the vanishing cabinet and -

_The diadem. That goddamn horcrux sent me twenty years or more in the past. _

Anger bubbled inside her and she looked at the ring on her finger. If she ever encountered Bellatrix again, she'd make sure to curse her to infinity and beyond. Because of that evil, disgusting cockroach - 

'Are you all right?' interrupted the matron, alarmed. Hermione's angry expression melted away.

'Yes,' replied Hermione too quickly. She feigned an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, Madam -

'Chapman.' 

'- right,' continued Hermione. 'Sorry, I'm just feeling quite...dazed.' 

'Of course, dear,' nodded Madam Chapman sympathetically. 'The effects of the potion will take a few moments before they're felt.' The Matron's eyes travelled from the top of Hermione’s matted, blood-stained hair to the exposed parts of her arm, no doubt taking in the countless scars she had managed to accumulate over all the months of the war. She rolled down her sleeves and averted her gaze. There was a somewhat awkward pause before the Matron moved away.

Hermione looked around the Hospital Wing in which she had twice been a guest. Once when she had been cursed with those obscenely long teeth. And the other time...she shuddered as she remembered those round, yellow eyes that had filled her pocket mirror.

To her relief, the Hospital Wing of the past looked the same. Apart from a different shade of curtains, everything else seemed pretty much in place. Not that she could be certain, of course. She’d have to ask Harry about that; it seemed the Hospital Wing had become his permanent residency over the last couple of years.

Her thoughts lingered on her best friend. Would she ever see him again? And Ron...she never even got to tell him how she felt. Not with words, anyway.

Fighting back tears, Hermione sank back down.

‘Ah, Headmaster!’ The Matron's voice pierced Hermione's melancholic thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat as her attention veered towards the four people who had entered the room.

She barely managed to stifle a gasp.

There, among the four people who had entered, was none other than Albus Dumbledore himself. Both his beard - which was much shorter than how he sported it in her time - and hair were auburn, and he was donning glittering purple robes that contrasted starkly with his hair and twinkling blue eyes. Her whole body filled with warmth at the sight of her old Headmaster, who had given everything, even his life, to protect his students and his beloved school. A smile naturally came to her face. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. With Dumbledore by her side, nothing could happen to her. She felt so elated in this, the briefest of moments, that she was sure not even Bellatrix bursting through the wall right now mounting a hippogriffwould have made her fear. And why should she be afraid? She was in the presence of the greatest wizard of all time.

Dumbledore caught sight of her glowing face, and smiled back.

She tore her eyes away from Dumbledore, and saw the blond man who had helped her earlier. He gave her a small, reassuring smile. He seemed friendlier now, thankfully.

Her attention moved to an elderly, nearly bald, bearded wizard that had a feeble look about him. He only had a few wispy white hairs left. Hermione recognised him instantly as Armando Dippet - she had read plenty of books about Hogwarts in which his photograph had appeared. 

Then her sights landed on the fourth person.

The person in question was male, around eighteen years old, and tall, with slightly wavy, jet black hair parted to his left, and dark brown eyes. He was also very handsome; he had high, slightly hollow cheekbones and pale, flawless skin that contrasted attractively with his hair. Hermione noticed he was wearing a head boy's badge, and that his uniform had green and silver embroidery. _A Slytherin headboy..._Hermione's mind was racing. She knew only a handful of head boys had been Slytherin, although right now she couldn't quite remember who...

She sat up in bed, motionless, as all four of them and the matron wandered over to her bed. She would need to come up with a backstory, and quick. The problem was she still didn't know what year she'd ended up in. Dippet had been Headmaster until the seventies, and Lord knew when Dumbledore's hair first turned white. 

‘Ah, so this is the girl,’ remarked Dippet, his eyes skimming over her body. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. ‘Hullo there. What’s your name?’

‘Hermione,’ she said as confidently as she could.

'Do you have a last name, Hermione?' smiled Dumbledore. His voice sounded so strange to Hermione; it was younger sounding, but nonetheless wiser. She hadn't heard him speak in such a long time.

'She hit her head badly on the stairs, Albus,' interrupted the blond man. He gave Hermione a pointed look. 'Let's give her some time before we begin prodding.'

Hermione took this opportunity to act concussed. 

'Yes...sorry, I'm a bit...disorientated...' said Hermione, putting on her best acting. 

'All right, then,' Dippet said briskly. 'We'll leave the questions until later. First, let me introduce myself and my party. My name is Armando Dippet, and I’m Headmaster here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Hermione nodded.

'This,' Dippet continued, gesturing next to him, 'is Professor Albus Dumbledore. He is Head of Gryffindor House - Hogwarts is divided into four houses, I'll explain later - and is also the school's Transfiguration teacher.' Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgement. Hermione nodded again, this time more enthusiastically.

'And this is Professor Francois Descipio -' he said, pointing to the blond man. 'He is our current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.' Finally, a name to a face. 

'And finally,' Dippet said, 'I am pleased to introduce you to our head boy' - the dark haired boy gave a smile of his own - 'Tom Riddle.' 

Hermione's blood froze over. 

Dippet's words rippled through her mind.

_Tom Riddle. _

What a fool she'd been.

_Tom Riddle. _

To think she was safe.

_Tom Riddle._

When in reality, she had escaped but one nightmare.

_Tom Riddle._

And leapt straight into another...

_Tom Riddle._

...straight into the Devil's lair. 


	3. Hushed Voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait - been busy with exams and general life! Hope you enjoy - things are starting to happen...! 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Heathcliff96

'Miss Hermione?' 

Hermione kept her eyes squarely on Dumbledore. It was all she could do to stop herself from running away and jumping into the Black Lake. So uncompromising was her fear that she didn't even notice her ring begin to grow hotter. 

Tom. Marvolo. Riddle.

_I am Lord Voldemort. _

It was as though the air had been knocked out of her. What was it like to breathe? She couldn't remember. All she could concentrate on was that the man who was responsible for everything - _everything - _ was standing in front of her. Everything bad in her life was _his fault. _She hated him. She loathed him. And now she had to face him. 

Bile rose in her throat and a sudden wave of nausea hit her like a bus. She dug her nails in her thighs underneath the covers so hard that her eyes welled up. The tears felt sticky against her clammy skin. 

Her expression had frozen in place for a significant amount of time, enough to raise quizzical looks from the party in front of her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see _him, _his face sporting a perturbed expression.

'Hermione?' Descipio's eyes narrowed. 'Are you okay?' 

'Yes, sorry,' she murmured, trying to stop her head from spinning. 'The headache's back,' she added quickly as she saw his sceptical expression. She dared another quick glance at Voldemort, whose eyebrows were only slightly raised.

Dumbledore turned to the Matron, who was standing to the back of the four men and staring at Hermione with wide, concerned eyes. He bent his head to whisper something in her ear. The Matron nodded, and left the room in a hurry. 

Despite her shock and horror, she could see that she was rapidly losing face, and that would be of no use to her. Especially now that she was in more danger than ever. Hermione Granger was nothing if not a problem-solver, and she knew what she had to do now. 

She'd need a plan and fast. Now that she knew what period she was in, she was more equipped to provide them with a relatively convincing, if ambiguous, backstory that would place her in their good books. Voldemort was head boy, so he was seventeen, if she remembered the information Harry had given her about his childhood - and this was 1944. Grindelwald was at the height of his power. Anti-muggleborn hysteria had reached its peak in Europe, and parts of France, Germany and Switzerland were in Grindelwald's clutches.

And so Hermione Lefevre was born. Born in France, homeschooled, taken hostage by Grindelwald's forces when her father - no, her best friend, that would be less easy to verify - led a small resistance in the occupied part of her _arrondissement_ in Paris. They took her to a tall townhouse on the Rue de Vaugirard, where they'd tortured her, although she never betrayed any secrets. She'd managed to escape briefly from their clutches, but her fellow comrades had been left behind, she recounted sadly, a few tears accumulating in her puffy eyes. And then, as she ran through the corridors trying to find the front door with her kidnappers on her trail, she came across a vanishing cabinet. She got in just in time before they realised where she'd gone, and managed to cast a follow-me-not spell on the cabinet before she toppled out into that bizarre room with all the golden and silver knickknacks and books littered about the place. 

As she told her tale of lies, she soon realised that it wasn't hard to mimic the grief of a war victim. All she had to do was channel all the fresh horrors she had witnessed only a few hours ago, and her eyes would start to water, her face would redden and from her eyes shone the kind of despair that only real witnesses to the most depraved cruelty can display . Through her tears, she glanced at the four in front of her. She noticed with satisfaction that they were looking at her sympathetically, although there were very slight traces of disbelief still visible. 

A few moments of silence passed after she stopped speaking.

'The vanishing cabinet?' Dippet broke in. He asked this very warily. Hermione was hardly surprised; everything she'd ever read about the man indicated he was very suspicious, particularly when it came to Hogwarts and its safety. 

'Yes' she responded earnestly. She'd briefly debated lying about how she gatecrashed at Hogwarts, but she eventually settled for a half-truth. She knew for certain, thanks to Malfoy, that a vanishing cabinet could get you inside Hogwarts without alerting the wards. And no other reason would fit, because there was literally no other way of entering Hogwarts undetected. 'I suppose the one I got into was its pair.'

'This is unprecedented,' Dippet murmured more to himself. 'We'll obviously need to destroy the vanishing cabinet currently at Hogwarts, although I always thought it was broken -

'I can take care of that, Headmaster,' said Descipio. 'I'm pretty sure I saw a handful of students disappearing into the room last term - perhaps they saw fit to repair it?'

'It would take rather complex magic to do so, Francois, although I am pleased to see what high regard you have for our students,' smiled Dumbledore.

Hermione's stomach twisted uncomfortably. She needed to speak to Dumbledore immediately, or she'd be found out soon enough. 

'Anyway,' continued Dippet, obviously miffed at being interrupted. "We must also decide on what to do with the girl.' Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She'd really been counting on being allowed to stay.

'Armando,' interrupted Descipio loudly. All eyes turned to look at him. 'The poor girl - well, just look at her - she needs shelter. We cannot simply cast her out.' 

'I agree with Francois, Armando,' added Dumbledore lightly. He looked at Hermione pointedly, as though to tell her that he knew something was amiss with her story. She averted her gaze, burning under his questioning stare. However, as she looked away, she caught _his _eye. Fear flooded her veins. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were currently playing with the fabric of her blood stained robes.

'Well - all right,' Dippet relented. He paused for a moment, appearing to mull over his decision and convince himself that this wasn't a completely mad idea. 'But she is _not _to be left alone to roam about the castle. Merlin knows we don't need a repeat of the events of two years ago.'

What? Hermione momentarily forgot Voldemort's presence as she pondered the meaning of Dippet's words. _Let's see, two years ago was 1942..._

_Oh. _

_The Chamber of Secrets. _

_That little episode. _

'Tom, you will chaperone Miss Lefevre for the first few weeks.' 

Hermione paled. 

'No!' 

The words escaped her before she realised what she'd said. The reactions were immediate. Dippet's eyebrows shot so far up they practically disappeared, and Descipio's forehead was furrowed in confusion. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was stoic in his expression. Voldemort's eyebrows were raised, only slightly, but enough to betray some alarm.

_This wasn't good._

'I mean - I don't want to be a burden,' stammered Hermione in a small voice. 'I - I can always go, there's no need -

'Nonsense,' Dumbledore cut in, his eyes sparkling with good nature. 'It's just a precaution. Hogwarts has gone through some tough times, Hermione, but you are most welcome here. Headmaster Dippet is merely ensuring the safety of the students, including you.'

'Yes, of course, all of that was implied,' Dippet added awkwardly. 'You are - most welcome. For the time being, Miss Lefevre, you will be housed in our guest dormitories, away from the other students. Ordinarily, we would have you sorted into one of the four noble houses of Hogwarts - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin - but as you are to be only a probationary student, we shall postpone for another two weeks or so - that is, if we can verify your story properly. Tomorrow is the first day of teaching for the rest of the students. After breakfast, you will report to my office - Tom will accompany you - and we can discuss a plan for you. How does that sound?' 

'That's fine, sir. Thank you.' 

'In that case, Tom can accompany you to our guest dormitories right away,' said Dippet. 

'Certainly, Headmaster.'

The sound of Voldemort's deep, melodious voice tore through Hermione's thoughts like a rocket. It was jarring to hear such a pleasant tone from someone she associated with the ghostly, mangled serpent-like monster whose eyes glowed red and voice grew high-pitched in mirthless laughter. As things stood, all she could do was nod helplessly in agreement with Dippet. Any other reaction would have raised further suspicions against her, and Merlin knew she didn't need even more attention drawn in her direction. 

As Hermione slowly rose from her bed and surveyed the wizards before her, she became very conscious of the fact that she was alone. Truly, utterly and tragically alone. Those feelings only grew more acute as she placed her feet on the cold floor and rose to be led by Voldemort to her chambers. Voldemort - yes, she had to keep referring to him as such, to remember that beneath the pretty face and the warm eyes lay the source of an evil so putrid it put the most depraved of Hell itself to shame - gave her what was meant as a warm and genuine smile, but she simply could not and would not reciprocate.

Once she was up, Voldemort gestured towards the door, stepping backwards to allow Hermione to exit Dippet’s office first. And yet she felt that every step she took was further into the belly of the beast. She would soon be alone, in a dark corridor, with evil incarnate. He had killed two people already, and he was only in his late teens. A Dark Lord he may not be yet, but a murderer he most certainly was. A murderer with a particular aversion to Mudbloods. 

No sooner were they away from prying eyes and well into the corridor did Voldemort turn around to face her.

‘Tom Riddle, pleasure to meet you.’ Voldemort stuck out his hand. Hermione felt her breath still. She stared at his long fingers for a one brief moment. She pictured his pale yew wand twirling in his hands, a jet of green light bursting towards her…

‘Hermione Lefevre. The pleasure’s all mine.’ Hermione forced herself to sound relax as her no-nonsense Hermione-ness kicked in. In times of a crisis, she was always at the ready. This time was to be no different, she had decided. She took his hand and shook it quickly.

‘Please, follow me,’ Voldemort gave her the same smile he’d offered in the Hospital Wing. Hermione, however, noticed it didn’t reach his eyes. Giving him a small, curt nod, she did as asked. They soon fell into a brisk, routine step.

‘So, you’re from France?’ Voldemort’s voice was clear, forceful without being intimidating, loud enough that it could be heard but not so loud that it was unpleasant. She quickly glanced at him sideways. His tone had displayed only a mild curiosity, although from the look in his eyes she could tell he was intrigued by her presence. Hermione felt hot underneath his stare, and she became vastly aware of the fact that her hair was matted and bushy beyond relief, and the wounds on her arms, although healed, were still visible. With dismay, she felt the ring on her finger grow hotter. 

_Damn Horcrux._

The air felt thick and tense. It was suffocating. Hermione fiddled with the ring on her finger. Her eyes fell to the ugly ring on Voldemort's hand. The symbol of his murderous past, present and future. 

'Yes,' she replied. 

She felt her cheeks redden. _If I don't stop, I will literally burst into flames._

'I've never been, though I'd would have liked to,' he replied, sounding earnest. His lips curved into a slight smile, causing dimples to appear in his slightly hollow cheeks. His brown eyes displayed only a genuine interest, and not, as Hermione rightly suspected, a sense of self-importance and condescension that the young Dark Lord inevitably held towards anyone but himself.

Hermione tried not to stutter this time. 

'Yes, well, it'll be difficult at the moment - what with Grindelwald's forces and all. And not to mention the Nazi occupation.' She said all this quickly, as though she couldn't wait to stop talking. However hard she tried, she could not act altogether normal. And she knew that she would be setting alarm bells off in Voldemort's head. All she could do was hope it passed off as some sort of PTSD symptom and pray that he wouldn't pay her any further attention. 

'Ah, yes, the Muggle war,' Voldemort drew out tonelessly. The word _muggle _rolled off his tongue as though it were of no consequence to him. Hermione knew better. 'Terrible business.' 

Hermione nodded, tearing her eyes away and setting her sights on the view ahead. They were walking a bit quicker now. She'd only seen the guest dormitories a handful of times during her years as a prefect where she would show important guests to their rooms, and wondered whether they'd still be in the same place as before. She felt relieved as they reached the staircase and walked up to the second floor, the same floor where the dorms were in her own time.

The ring was getting really hot now. Hermione suspected it wasn't a coincidence, given its close proximity to its master.

They reached a familiar portrait - it was of two wizards in long, black robes, sitting outside in an English-style garden, playing muggle chess. 

'Hospitium,' Voldemort said in his deep voice.

'Right away, young lad, right away,' boomed one of the wizards in a very posh, aristocratic voice. The portrait swung open.

He stepped inside, bending his tall form as he did so. Hermione stilled for a moment. She was about to enter an enclosed space with Lord Voldemort himself, and she was terrified to say the least. He swivelled round and looked at her expectantly, as if to say "what are you waiting for?" Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

It was almost how she remembered it from her fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts. They'd entered into the guest common room. It was a large room, with dark, leather armchairs, a sofa and a chaise-lounge in the corner. Directly in front of the armchairs was a huge, beautiful fireplace made from marble. The surface of the stone had been carved into the shapes of the animals of the respective Hogwarts houses - a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake. Hermione noticed that the eagle was circling the badger, but the snake had wrapped itself around the lion, not in a threatening way, but as if it had found its home there. On the mantlepiece, there were stunning magical trinkets, laced with gold and emeralds and sapphires and Merlin knows what else. The carpet was ornate, with golden threads forming the outline of the Hogwarts crest, and different coloured silks making up the inside. To Hermione's delight, there were two large wooden bookshelves completely brimming with tomes of all shapes and sizes. In front of the fire stood small, wooden table with some books placed carefully onto it. Above her, candles were floating in the air.

'So, this is the main room - it's rather nice, and the fireplace keeps the place very warm in the winter. I stay here when I arrive at school early. And upstairs are the female dorms. I can't show you up for obvious reasons, but I'm told they're very pleasant - certainly if the male dorms are anything to go by. You'll get a room to yourself, as guests get the very best here at Hogwarts.' 

Hermione forgot momentarily in whose presence she was as her eyes took in the comforting sights before her....at his movement, she remembered where she was and with whom, and a sense of foreboding swept over her. She turned to face him. 

'This looks lovely,' she said, hoping she came across as confident. 'I'm sure I'll be very comfortable here.' 

He smiled the same smile from before.

'That's a nice ring,' he said suddenly. Hermione's eyes travelled down to her finger where the ring was trying to burn a hole in her skin. Hermione's chest instantly tightened. This was bad. Hermione feared he felt some sort of connection with it, and that this would draw him nearer to her. 'Family heirloom?'

'Erm, yes,' replied Hermione hesitantly. 'It was my mother's.'

'I suppose it must be very special to you?' inquired Voldemort pleasantly. He looked at her with an intense but soft look that would have disarmed and soothed her were Hermione not aware of whom she was dealing with.

'Yes, I suppose so,' she said, not lifting her eyes from the beautiful ring she'd transfigured. The weight of the Horcrux was beginning to take its toll now that all the excitement of the evening had died down, and she was itching to take it off and throw it across the room. 'Although we've only ever worn it for tradition - it's rather silly, all this archaic ancestral stuff.'

'I wouldn't be so sure about that,' Voldemort replied, and Hermione looked up. Anyone else wouldn't have detected the small but visible frown that had formed on his face, and Hermione would have missed it too had she not been looking out for it. 'Heritage is important - to feel connected to something, to have roots in something bigger than yourself, can be a great source of comfort.' 

'Indeed, and that would make sense to family you knew and with whom you had a genuine connection - but I don't see why I ought to define myself in relation to people I've never met and who probably shared very different morals to me.' She said all this very quickly and resolutely, with a steely glint in her eye.

Voldemort just stared at her. 

'I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree, Hermione,' he smiled.

Hermione flushed. 

_When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? _

When she didn't say anything in response, he added, 'I'll take you to breakfast tomorrow. Eight o'clock?' 

Hermione nodded, and with a smile, he turned on his heel and exited the common room. 

As soon as he left her sight, Hermione exhaled as though she hadn't been breathing this whole time. Her heart was pounding in her chest, resounding in her ears. Immediately, she took off the Horcrux and threw it on the wooden table. She felt like an anvil had been lifted off her chest. 

She couldn't go to bed. Not when she needed to understand what was going on. She glanced at the clock that stood proudly over the mantelpiece. It was just past midnight. 

Grabbing her wand, she stepped towards the portrait hole, and crept her way to the library. 

* * *

It was pitch black when she arrived. She almost tripped over some books scattered across the stone floor. Casting a wordless lumos, she slowly walked through the library, waving her wand cautiously around to ensure that nobody else was about. Despite everything that had happened, Hermione still felt nervous about breaking the curfew rules. Shaking her head at her ridiculousness, she sped up her pace, satisfied that there was no-one there, and reached the section she had practically haunted during her third year at Hogwarts.

The time travel section of the library wasn't particularly varied, and she noticed with frustration that there were even fewer books on the subject than there were during her era. She was also aware that the Hogwarts caretaker might pop up at anytime and report her to Dippet, which would hardly be ideal given her current status as probationary student. Scowling at the state of academic research in the area - _probably due to budget cuts, _she thought irately - she finally settled on a few books, one of which was a dusty tome called "The Concept of Time" by Melania Drake. She pulled out this last one onto the table. She vaguely remembered it being a good read. As she skimmed the contents, however, she grew more and more exasperated; there was nothing on anomalies of time travel whatsoever, only a rather long discussion on the general theory behind it. Hermione supposed she'd have to read it in full later when she was less sleep deprived. Sighing, she placed the books underneath her arm. Her next stop was the restricted section. She would need to be particularly careful here, as the books themselves could sometimes play tricks, from screaming bloody murder to literally causing the flesh from your skin to melt.

She was just about to head towards it, when something caught her eye. A stream of light was coming from behind one of the bookcases on the other side of the library. She narrowed her eyes so they could adjust to the new source of light - yes, and there was definitely a - no, two shadows. Hermione knew she ought to go straight to her dormitory and not embroil herself in more drama. But she'd already had a pretty mad, hectic day, and she felt as though she needed to keep her eyes alert to anything strange that might occur during her time in this era. She rapidly extinguished the light from her wand, and neared silently towards the place where the figures were. She decided to hide behind two bookshelves over from where the figures were so that she was just within earshot but not at risk of being seen. She knelt down on the floor, her back against the bookshelf, and cast a disillusionment charm. 

'I warn you, I am not to be trifled with,' she heard one voice whisper angrily. It was a man, but his voice was muffled so she could barely hear him. 'I paid you handsomely, and you have failed to deliver.' 

'No - no, you misunderstand,' whispered another voice fearfully. 'I delivered what you asked - it was in the finest condition -

'Remember who you're dealing with,' whispered the first person menacingly. 'And I am not referring to myself. Can you give me any plausible explanation for what happened? Or will I have to curse it out of you?'

'I can assure Your Lordship that I only seek to preserve our movement - 

'But the girl -

It was at this point that one of Hermione's books fell onto the floor with a loud _slap. _

_Fuck._

'What was that? Who's there?' spoke the first voice loudly. Hermione didn't wait to give him an answer. Locating the exit, she sprinted her way across the library as fast as she could, praying with all her might that they couldn't see her in the darkness and that her concentration on the disillusionment wouldn't fade, and didn't stop until she had reached the portrait to the guest common room. When she was in, she sank to the floor, her hair sticking to the sweat on her brow, panting heavily. 

It looked like she was in deeper than she had previously thought. 


	4. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys,
> 
> It's been a while - sorry! I hope I've made up for it with a suuuuuper long chapter. I didn't even realise how long it was until I copied and pasted it onto a Word document. Hope you don't get bored lol.
> 
> A note about characterisation - I know Hermione seems quite anxious at the moment but I promise she will be kicking arse soon! It's just such a terrifying and novel experience for her so I think it's natural for her to be a bit on edge at the beginning.
> 
> I hope you're all keeping healthy and safe in these crazy times. Remember to look after your mental health as well as your physical health, and don't push yourselves too hard!!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Heathcliff96

_She was back in the Room of Hidden Things. Everything was how she'd left it; wizards and witches at each other's throats, crimson and green and gold streaks of magic shooting across the battleground like incandescent stars. Through the chaos she spotted Harry and Ron across the far end of the room, fighting a Death Eater each, curses pouring from their mouths like a waterfall. Her blood boiled, the thought of losing them too harsh to bear. She tried to run towards them but her legs wouldn't budge, as though they'd been welded to the ground. _

_'Harry,' she screamed until she was hoarse. 'Ron! RON! I can't move!' _

_She shrieked and and writhed and cursed. But the more she tried to move, the stiffer she became. Suddenly Bellatrix was before her, with bloodshot eyes and a snarling face. Hermione's screams died in her throat. _

_'Give me the diadem,' Bellatrix spat. Hermione shook her head frantically. _

_'You're nothing but a worthless mudblood. I'll get it back if it's the last thing I do.' _

_She watched in helpless horror as Bella withdrew the same knife she'd used to slaughter Dobby with one hand and twist Hermione's arm with the other so that her scar faced upwards. The paralysis had reached her throat by now so that she couldn't cry out even if she wanted to. Tears spilled out from her eyes as Bellatrix dug the knife into her skin and began to retrace the word MUDBLOOD over the old scar, her flesh sizzling from the blade's contact. Hermione braved her agony and stretched out her fingers, which had yet to be hit by the paralysis, hoping to reach her wand before she turned into a statue and Bellatrix could have her way with her. Except the pain from Bellatrix's new handiwork was sharp and excruciating. Her sight grew inky black and the last thing she glimpsed was Bellatrix's deranged face twisted into a grimace as she wrenched the knife in deeper. _

_When Hermione woke up she was sprawled on cold flagstone. Her eyes fluttered open and she recognised the dimly lit Hogwarts library, hazy in vision as though fog were present. Through the eery mist she could detect a low source of light coming from one of the middle sections. Fear washed over her, but curiosity pushed her forwards. She got up and glided towards it, her feet barely brushing the ground, careful not to make a single sound. She eventually got close enough to hear whispering, the thrum of frantic conversation buzzing in her ears. But as she turned the corner into the aisle, she was engulfed in darkness. Nobody was in sight. Doubt began to fester; was she going mad? She could have sworn she'd seen something. She shivered, goosebumps prickling her skin. It was much colder than it had been before. A sense of foreboding crept over her and she swivelled round to make a hasty exit. _

_Only instead of a clear passage, two dark figures now towered over her. Hermione instantly took a step backwards until she hit a bookshelf, pressing herself against it as though by doing so she could slip straight through. The taller of the figures walked slowly towards her, a pale hand outstretched, illuminated by a faint glow. The person stopped before her, their fingertips brushing against Hermione's neck. Then in one fell swoop they enclosed their hand tightly around her throat. Hermione gagged as she struggled against their grip. _

_'But the girl,' the figure rasped in a man's voice. _

Hermione woke up, gasping. She was lying in a four poster bed, her sweaty legs tangled in hot woollen covers. The room around her was dark - she'd drawn the thick crimson curtains before she'd gone to bed last night and now they blocked out the morning light. She shivered, despite the warmth of the bedroom. Merlin, that had been one of the worst nightmares she'd ever had. Hermione propped herself up against the headboard, steadying herself with two weak arms. The quiet stillness of the room was jarring, a stark contrast to the jumble of emotions tangling inside of her. She brought a shaky hand to her throat, tracing the path drawn by the pale, white hand of her assailer.

And then there had been the altercation with Bellatrix...With a jolt, she remembered throwing the Horcrux on the wooden table in the common room, leaving it completely unguarded. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw off the covers and bolted towards the dormitory door, flinging herself downstairs to the common room. Unlike her bedroom, the common room was illuminated by daylight, and she sighed with relief as she saw the ring on the table where she'd left it. Gritting her teeth, she stomped over to the table and snatched up the ring, slipping it on her fourth finger on her right hand. How could she have been so careless as to leave it lying around in a _shared_ common room? She'd had a rough few moments last night, sure, but this was beyond reckless. If anyone had taken it...well, it would have been disastrous. Hermione didn't believe in Divination, but she also didn't believe in pushing her luck either. That nightmare...it had seemed borderline prophetic. She wasn't going to take any chances.

Once back inside the dark room, she navigated her way towards her bedside table and picked up her wand. With a lazy flick, she drew open the curtains, the bright light of day flooding the room.

Then Hermione caught sight of the clock hanging opposite her four-poster bed.

Quarter to eight.

_Fuck. _

Groaning loudly, she dragged herself to her ensuite bathroom. There really was no respite at all. Hermione's nose wrinkled as she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Puffy, dark circles were visible under her eyes, and her face was sickly pale and thin.

_I'd give adult Voldemort a run for his money._

Sighing, she once again raised her wand and silently cast a charm. There were limits to aesthetic magic but she managed to make her face regain a bit of colour, her cheeks pinking and skin evening out in tone. The dark circles had mostly vanished too. Hermione had never been the most beauty conscious witch in the world, but she needed to look her best today. The devil's in the details, and she was going to be stuck with him for at least two weeks.

When she returned to the bedroom, she spotted a pile of clean clothes waiting for her on a stool near her bed. The clothes were none other than the old Hogwarts uniform. Madam Chapman had conjured a clean, ironed set of black robes, a white shirt, tie and skirt, as well as the Hogwarts blazer. She held up the grey tie, noticing the lack of house colours, sadness dampening her already low spirits.

Once fully dressed, she stuffed her wand in her robe pockets and flung herself out of the bedroom into the main common room. _I need to get a bag from Hogsmeade as soon as possible,_ she thought to herself as she caught sight of the books she'd stolen the night before spread across the table. For now, she'd have to make do without. Her eyes darted towards the portrait hole - she had bigger things to worry about. Summoning all of her courage, she took a decisive step forwards and climbed out of the portrait.

Voldemort was standing by one of the portraits opposite. He had his arms by his side, his back leaning gently against the wall, looking like the utmost figure of patience. He was scanning the crowd of students making their way downstairs to the Great Hall. Upon hearing Hermione's footsteps, he straightened up, his dark eyes brightening, and walked towards her.

He smiled.

Hermione tensed.

'Good morning, Hermione.'

'Good morning.'

‘How did you sleep?’ His tone was calm and his words were laced with sweet concern.

‘Fine,’ she replied as naturally as she could. She hated herself for the small but audible tremor in her voice. She sucked in the air around her and it steadied her somewhat. Wriggling her fingers, she felt the cool metal of the ring brush against her skin. The ring was a normal temperature this morning, thank Merlin. 'Sorry if I kept you waiting. I overslept somewhat.'

‘Of course, you must be exhausted,' he said sympathetically. He edged closer to her and she caught a whiff of his fresh scent, a hint of bergamot. ‘I apologise for rousing you so early. It’s just that breakfast times are rather rigid here at Hogwarts, and the Headmaster asked to see you soon after.’

‘No, no, I understand,’ Hermione replied quickly. She felt a flush creeping across the back of her neck.

_Pull yourself together! _

'Let's go, shall we?' He took a sudden step away from her, and gestured for her to walk.

Hermione followed him. Students were already piled into the corridor, the sound of talking like white noise in the background. When they'd reach the stairwell, it was completely choc-a-bloc.

'Form a line, everyone,' Voldemort's voice rang clearly through the chattering and laughter. The effect was immediate. Students of all ages and houses began to organise themselves, forming a single file and clearing a path for people going the opposite way. Even in his teens, Voldemort radiated authority. Hermione noticed the string of 'morning Tom!'s and various other greetings flung at him. And what was more, Voldemort engaged with every single one. He slithered his way so smoothly in between people trying to grapple for his attention that it was evident he was used to dealing with this kind of attention. The fawning. The admiration. It was sycophantic.

It took them a while but they finally reached the foot of the stairs - after many more 'hey Tom!'s and 'ready to smash the year, head boy?'s - and then it was a short walk to the large wooden doors of the Great Hall. They were already open. The familiar rows of the house tables were visible, although they were currently covered with an assortment of breakfast foods. Numerous students were loitering about the tables, laughing and catching up on missed conversations. The sound, whilst so familiar to Hermione, seemed alien at the same time. She was not of this Hogwarts, not of this time, and she was acutely aware of it now more than ever. Hermione felt like a jigsaw piece forced into the wrong slot.

She'd barely had time to register the scene in front of her when Voldemort strolled in confidently and to Hermione's horror began making his way to the Slytherin table. Of course, he would be sitting with his fellow students. And his followers. The Knights of Walpurgis, if she recalled, were the early Death Eaters of Voldemort's school days. As luck would have it - rotten, putrid luck - all of his "friends" were waiting for him. Hermione noted two conspicuously empty seats in the middle of the table.

_Fantastic. _

_A muggleborn sitting amidst a throng of blood purists. _

_What could go wrong? _

'Tom!' A broad-chested, muscular boy with a mass of curly black hair stood up to greet them. He sported a relaxed, haughty expression as he welcomed both Hermione and Voldemort to their seats.

'Good morning, Imicus,' replied Voldemort good-naturedly. He looked around at the others, all of whom smiled at him admiringly.

'Everyone, this is Hermione Lefevre,' he added as they both settled down onto the bench. The waft of bacon rashers, caramelised French toast and pumpkin juice hit Hermione immediately, her stomach emitting a low growl in response. 'She arrived at Hogwarts yesterday evening, and she'll hopefully be joining us for the rest of the year. Hermione,' he turned to face her, 'these are my good friends Imicus Lestrange, Nero Avery, Tarquin Mulciber and Dorian Nott.'

Lestrange. Avery. Mulciber. Nott. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. All those mentioned were definitely part of Voldemort's school gang of bullies. And muggleborns were their preferred victims.

'Welcome to Hogwarts, Hermione,' said Lestrange, as he reached over from across the table to shake her hand, careful to avoid knocking over a pewter jar of pumpkin juice. Hermione smiled weakly and took his hand. Lestrange squeezed it tightly, his eyes locked on Hermione. Her stomach churned. It was jarring, shaking the hand of a boy who'd see her dead in a flat second if he knew about her heritage. She withdraw her hand quickly, wiping it on her thigh under the table. The rest of the gang nodded politely at her. Hermione had a small feeling Imicus Lestrange was Voldemort's "number two".

'May I?' Voldemort asked her, a white hand clasping the edge of her plate and the other pointing to some food.

_Ever the gentleman. _

'Yes, thank you,' Hermione replied quietly, suppressing the urge to bolt then and there. Mad as it was, she was beginning to miss fighting Bellatrix, now that she was literally boxed in among some of the vilest people in the world.

'You're at the Slytherin table, Hermione,' Voldemort remarked casually, as he piled some food onto her plate. Hermione's eyes darted towards the faces staring keenly at her and felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

'The best house, by the way,' interjected Lestrange, which sparked a chorus of 'hear hear' around them. Only Voldemort didn't say anything. 'We're the house of cunning, ambition, resourcefulness! Tom's too modest to brag about his own house, of course,' he added, looking at Voldemort reverently.

'Honestly, Imicus, let's allow Hermione to make her own judgments,' laughed Voldemort, his voice warm and playful. Hermione risked a quick glance at his face, which mirrored his voice exceptionally well - except for his eyes. Hermione could just tell. They were _blank._

Dumbledore's words to Harry echoed in her head:

> You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.

'Now, see over there,' Voldemort continued after placing her plate before Hermione, pointing a long arm towards the other tables. 'The closest to us is Ravenclaw's table. They're known for their cleverness and wit - a noble house indeed. The table next to them is Hufflepuff, house of the trustworthy and hardworking. And then there's Gryffindor house...'

Voldemort turned to look at her and Hermione swore she saw his mouth curling upwards.

'...the house of the brave.'

Hermione felt the disdain dripping from those words. He looked at her, his expression inscrutable. She felt herself grow hotter under his stare and she forced herself to relax. He really liked eye contact, didn't he? Hermione supposed it was a way to engage properly with people, to create a kind of intimacy that would allow him to be taken into someone's confidence.

Needless to say, it wasn't working on Hermione Granger.

'So, you're from France, eh?' Lestrange asked Hermione, eying her up and down. 'Nice English accent you have there. How's that?'

'I was homeschooled by an English wizard, and my mother is English too. I guess I picked up my accent from her.' Hermione said meekly.

'Excellent,' Lestrange replied approvingly. 'A Hogwarts wizard, no doubt? No offence to Beauxbatons, of course, but I've heard the standards aren't as high there as they are at Hogwarts.'

'Yes, I'd heard that too,' added Nott, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. 'My father knew a chap - think his name was Antoine Millefeuille or something - and he told me and my brother he could barely summon a stick.'

'Beauxbatons has produced some notable alumni - Nicholas Flamel, for instance!' interrupted Hermione hotly, not sure why she'd suddenly rushed to Beauxbatons' defence.

'Who's that?'

_Seriously? How could someone have reached seventh year and not have known who Nicholas Flamel was? _

'He brewed the Elixir of Life, Dorian,' Voldemort chimed in. 'We covered him briefly in Potions last term.'

'Well that explains it,' guffawed Lestrange, slapping Nott on the back. 'Our man Nott here was too busy shacking up with Greengrass to pay attention to old Sluggy.'

Nott threw him a glare as the others chuckled.

'By the way,' spoke another of the boys. 'Tom, congratulations on your appointment for head boy. I didn't get a chance to tell you last night.'

'Really, there's no need, Nero,' Voldemort replied bashfully. A slight tint of red had appeared on his normally pale cheeks, given him an air of the utmost humility.

_He really plays them like a fiddle, doesn't he? _

'Truly an incredible achievement, and will never have been so well deserved,' Lestrange added loudly. There was a strong murmur of agreement. 'Who got head girl again?'

'Viola Evergreen,' said Voldemort.

'Seriously?'

'She's very clever, Imicus, and I'm pretty sure she just heard you,' Voldemort said lightly, gesturing towards Ravenclaw table. Sure enough, a blonde girl was scowling in Lestrange's direction. It had completely escaped Hermione's mind that there would be a head girl working alongside Voldemort. She wondered why this Viola Evergreen hadn't accompanied Voldemort to meet her last night.

'How the devil did she - the whole Hall's packed!'

'Speaking of incredible achievements,' Voldemort continued, ignoring Lestrange's grumblings, 'I heard about your fantastic internship at the Ministry, Tarquin. Tell us all about it.'

'It was rather a pain, actually,' the boy called Mulciber said dismissively, although Hermione noticed his face was slightly flushed with pleasure at being asked by his lord and master. 'I got to shadow Corvus Abbott directly, though, which was rather good. Learned quite a bit from him.'

'Ah yes, he was appointed permanent secretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement last summer. I thought him rather intelligent. Tell me, were you involved in creating the new programme for tightening regulations on apparition -

Hermione watched in awe as all of this unfolded before her. He really was a master of manipulation. Everything about him, from the uninterrupted eye contact he gave his friends to the carefully crafted questions he'd ask them, right down to the coy smiles and perfect timing of his responses, was indicative of his powers to bring down even the stoniest pureblood to their knees in his support. It was damn right impressive.

She craned her neck towards the teachers' area, hoping to spot Dumbledore. She finally caught sight of him. He was in deep conversation with - wait, that was Slughorn! A younger Slughorn with a thicker head of hair and and less of a belly, although for all intents and purposes he looked practically the same. She cast her gaze back to Dumbledore. It was still so strange seeing him, with his auburn hair, a mere teacher and not, as she had always known him to be, the best headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen.

As she continued to scan the crowds, she caught sight of Descipio. She recalled the way he'd covered for her when she'd began to stutter last night, although she wasn't sure why. After all, it was obvious that he wasn't at all convinced with her story. Why protect her at all? Nevertheless, she supposed she was grateful to him. Perhaps she'd found a friend in this godforsaken era.

Hermione eyed the Gryffindor table wistfully. She watched the Gryffindors, all huddled together and stuffing themselves with breakfast, just like Ron would do every morning, Harry laughing at him and sneaking bits of food off his plate when he wasn't looking. To her horror, she felt tears well up in her eyes. No no no, she would not burst into tears in front of Lord bloody Voldemort. She looked down, allowing the tears to spill silently onto her cheeks, and she quickly dabbed them with her fingers before anyone was any the wiser. The Horcrux wasn't helping with her mood either. She felt utterly ghastly.

She was no longer hungry, but she didn't want to give Voldemort any more reason to notice her. As she slowly ate, she realised that Voldemort must have told his followers not to ask her too many probing questions, knowing something traumatic had happened to her. She shook her head in unwitting admiration at his craft. What must it be like, she pondered, carefully moulding your personality to fit all possible situations just so you could appear to be perfect?

_What a sad existence,_ Hermione thought to herself.

* * *

'Say, how about you join me and my friends for a little get together in one of the disused classrooms this evening?'

They'd finally left the Great Hall after a lengthy breakfast. Hermione had managed to keep her head down for the most part, although Lestrange had kept shooting her glances here and there. She had liked him the least out of all of them. There was something about him that wasn't quite right, blood supremacy aside.

At Voldemort's question, Hermione's eyes widened in alarm.

_Dear Merlin, absolutely not. _

Voldemort frowned slightly as Hermione gave no answer.

'Are you alri -

_Crash. _

Hermione gasped as she collided forcefully with someone, until that someone grabbed her by the waist to stop her from falling.

‘Careful,’ murmured a deep, familiar voice. She looked up to see Descipio staring down at her with an amused expression, his arm still around her waist.

‘Excuse me, Professor,’ she mumbled feebly, her cheeks growing hot as he let go of her. As she looked away in embarrassment, she noticed that Voldemort's hands had been outstretched towards her, presumably to catch her fall before Descipio had stepped in.

'Ah, I see you're off to the Headmaster's office,' he remarked as his eyes fell on Voldemort in understanding.

'Yes, sir, we were just heading there,' Voldemort replied, his face a mask of utmost politeness.

'Perfect. I'll see you in class shortly, then,' he said to Voldemort, and then to Hermione, 'and I do hope I'll be seeing you soon, Hermione.' Hermione looked at him, her face red like a tomato.

'I hope so too,' she said far too quickly.

'Excellent,' he smiled, flashing pearly white teeth. He walked away from them, his emerald cloak billowing behind him.

Hermione closed her eyes momentarily to regain some semblance of composure.

'All okay?' Voldemort's smooth, deep voice pulled Hermione from out of her stupor.

'Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Shall we continue?' Hermione said, failing to keep a snap from her voice.

His eyes narrowed for a mere moment. Was that a flash of irritation? It had been far too fast. Then he nodded, and they proceeded to make their way to Dippet's office.

'Professor Descipio is rather charming, isn't he?' Voldemort added as he sauntered his way past the crowds of students milling about in the corridor. 'He's quite a newish appointment. He took over teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts after Professor Merrythought's early retirement midway through last year. It was a shock to all of us, losing such a cherished teacher, but, well, Professor Descipio is certainly up to the task.'

'He seems nice,' Hermione said shortly.

'Indeed,' Voldemort answered. They continued to walk in silence, the sound of their footsteps reverberating on the flagstone floor. The corridors were quieter now, to Hermione's relief - she needed time to think in peace. Convincing Dippet to let her stay was only the first step. She wanted to speak to Dumbledore, alone, as soon as possible. Surely if anyone could help her, it would be him. Her knowledge of horcruxes was still limited, and she knew Dumbledore had purged most of the material on them from the library. She still had to read the books she'd stolen yesterday night, but she wasn't too hopeful on their utility.

Hermione was so deep in thought that she hadn't even noticed they'd finally reached Dippet's office, which unlike Dumbledore's, was located near the owlery. They'd stopped in front of a blank wall, no door or entrance to be seen, and no portraits either. Hermione blinked again in momentary confusion until Voldemort said in a clear voice -

'Hippogriffs.'

At that, a wooden door appeared in the wall. Voldemort then raised a white knuckle and knocked three times.

'Come in,' called a voice that undoubtedly did not belong to Dippet.

They entered.

Dumbledore was sat in Dippet's chair leafing through some documents, reminiscent of the headmaster he would become. He was donning silvery shimmering cloak with gold buckles, his half-moon spectacles framing his twinkling blue eyes. Dippet's office was a stark contrast to Dumbledore's one in the future. It was pleasant enough, with old artefacts and books galore. All of the tiny, intricate items that Dumbledore had kept were absent. The walls of the office looked incredibly bare without all of the different cabinets filled with the various magical thingamabobs Dumbledore was so fond of. There was certainly none of the pizazz of Dumbledore's future stylistic tendencies.

Hermione swore she heard Voldemort's breath hitch.

Dumbledore looked up and smiled.

'Ah, Tom, Hermione!' he exclaimed, gesturing for them to come forwards. Hermione couldn't help but gape a little. His hair was auburn, for Merlin's sake. _Auburn._

'Sorry, sir, I was bringing Hermione for her appointment with the headmaster,' said Voldemort politely, if a little coldly.

She took note of it.

'Ah, of course,' Dumbledore remarked. He made no move to leave his seat. 'Armando has been called away on urgent business.'

'Ah,' Voldemort replied, 'well, in that case, perhaps it would be best if we came back when -'

'No need for that, Tom,' Dumbledore interrupted with a wave of his hand, silencing Voldemort. 'Professor Dippet has authorised me to take this meeting on his behalf. Assuming that's alright with you?'

'Yes, of course, sir,' Voldemort replied quickly. Hermione stole a glance. It wasn't her imagination. He was stiffer than he'd been before. The air was stilted now, as if the obvious dislike he had for Dumbledore - obvious to Hermione anyway, knowing what she knew - was filling up the very space around them. She looked back at Dumbledore. His blue eyes were fixed on Voldemort, the tension between them palpable.

Then Voldemort turned to Hermione.

'I'll head to class. I'll see you later, Hermione.' With a nod in Dumbledore's direction, he swivelled round and walked quietly out of the office.

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. A few moments of silence lapsed between them. This was the best situation she could have hoped for. Hermione, alone with Dumbledore. Now she could tell him everything, and maybe he could help her escape this hellish nightmare.

‘Sir,’ she began resolutely. Her voice stuck in her throat, her entire body tingling with nervousness. She couldn't push back the thought that he might not believe her. That he'd consider she was criminally insane and tell Dippet to kick her out of Hogwarts. The thought alone was unbearable.

But as she racked up the courage to tell Dumbledore every little impossible thing that had happened to her over the past few days, she felt a sense of calm wash over her like a cool ocean breeze. She realised in astonishment that the calmness was emanating from the ring. She could feel it seeping out of the horcrux like a spring of cool, refreshing water, drowning her anxieties and soothing her mind. Hermione could still feel the corruption of the horcrux, but her nerves weren't tingling anymore, and she felt more resolute in telling Dumbledore everything.

'Miss Lefevre?' Dumbledore broke her from her reverie. He was looking at her from above his spectacles with amusement.

'Sorry, I - I don't really know where to start,' she responded earnestly, biting her lip so hard she drew blood.

Dumbledore was silent, but he beckoned her forward towards the desk. Hermione sat down on the chair opposite.

‘I haven’t exactly been truthful with you.’

'Oh?' Dumbledore merely sat back further in his chair, his expression unreadable.

'Yes,' she said, her breath coming out in stutters. 'The thing is, well, I'm in a bit of a pickle if I'm honest with you and I don't really know what to do, and I thought, well, if anyone could help me, it would be you -' She was rambling and she knew it. This was harder than she'd anticipated. It was a no brainer, of course, telling Dumbledore all about her predicament, or at least as much as she could without scrambling the timeline. But this was a defining moment in her quest to understand the patchwork quilt of events she'd toppled into, and for this to happen, Dumbledore needed to believe her, and most importantly trust her. Once again, the cool feeling from before rushed over her, soothing her anxieties little by little. Her body was awash with mingled feelings of determination and confusion, as though there were another person inhabiting her being, its separate personality conflicting with hers.

‘I’m a Hogwarts student from 1998,’ she blurted out.

Dumbledore observed her, his calm expression only disturbed by the slight raising of his eyebrows and the flicker of surprise within his blue eyes.

_Well. That was anticlimactic._

‘Is that so?’ he asked calmly, as if Hermione had just informed him that it was a tad nippy outside. ‘And how, might I ask, have you ended up in 1944, fifty odd years in the past?’

Slowly, she pulled off the horcrux from her finger and placed it on Dippet's desk. Its blue gem sparkled proudly, illuminated by a ray of sunshine that came in through a window. Dumbledore glanced at it, confusion evident on his face.

'It's Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. I transfigured it to a ring so I could carry it around with me more easily.' A crease appeared between Dumbledore's eyebrows. He picked up the ring and placed it on the palm of his hand. Hermione watched as his look of confusion changed to one of alarm, and then with a jolt he threw the ring onto the table with such force that it bounced.

'Miss Lefevre,' he said in a low, hoarse voice. He stared at her with distrust. 'What - what is the meaning of -

'It's a horcrux. I was fighting in a war, in the Room of Requirement to be exact, and the person I was duelling wanted the diadem. But I couldn't very well give it over,' Hermione broke out in a whisper, a shadow passing over her face as she recalled Bellatrix. 'Not when we'd fought so hard to get it. And then I saw the Vanishing Cabinet, and I thought it would lead to me to a place I could destroy the awful thing without being disturbed, but it only brought me here.'

'Miss Lefevre,' Dumbledore interrupted in a controlled voice. 'This object, this ring, is one of the foulest -

'I know!' Hermione cried, unable to bear it any longer. She couldn't stand the way he was looking at her, as though she and the horcrux were one and the same. 'Professor, I know it all. And believe me, I know of the depraved lengths someone has to go to in order to create one. This is why my friends and I tried to destroy it, so we could defeat the enemy -

‘Who is the enemy, Miss Lefevre?’

Hermione froze. Of all the things she could disclose, the identity of Lord Voldemort was not one of them. The timeline was precarious enough as it was. No, she could not tell him.

'I can't,' she said at once. 'Sir, I simply can't. The consequences it could have for the timeline - it would be irresponsible of me -

Dumbledore silenced her with a hand.

‘Forgive me, Hermione,’ he spoke softly. 'I misspoke. I understand we cannot risk the timeline. Forgive an old fool his indulgences.'

‘All I can tell you is that the enemy is one to be feared,' she continued grimly. 'And I need to get back to my own time, before my being here causes any future damage. I already worry I've said too much. And I thought you might be of assistance.'

A look of uncertainty passed over Dumbledore's face. Hermione sat back limply in her chair as all hope threatened to abandon her.

‘I would be lying to you if I told you I knew exactly how to proceed from here,’ he eventually told her, eyeing the ring with heavy dislike ‘Because I’ve never, ever come across this before, and that’s saying something, because I’m almost a hundred. All things point to this ring, which you say is Ravenclaw's diadem, being the key to unlocking this befuddling mystery. I will need to study it, to be sure -

No sooner had Dumbledore attempted to pick the ring up, he withdrew his hand with a yelp. To Hermione's horror, Dumbledore's finger was burnt black. She instantly rose from her chair in a panic, reaching out to grab the ring away from him.

'It doesn't look as though it wishes to be parted from you, Miss Lefevre,' Dumbledore winced, shaking his injured hand.

'I don't know why that would be,' began Hermione anxiously, worried that Dumbledore would somehow think she was in cahoots with the damned thing. 'It's been having the oddest effects on me. It even encouraged me to speak to you.'

'Encouraged? How?' Dumbledore asked sharply.

'Normally it effects me the way a horcrux should,' she shuddered, remembering the heaviness of Voldemort's mangled soul. 'But when I thought about telling you everything - well, most things - its magic sort of calmed me. As if it were approving of my plan.'

Dumbledore drew into himself, silent and pondering. His eyes were closed, although the line between his eyebrows was still there. Time ticked away and Hermione began picking at her nails.

'I may have a theory,' he said finally, his blue eyes boring into hers. Hermione gripped the sides of her seat. 'The threads of one, at least, and at this stage I don't even think it could explain all the facts you've presented to me. Your case is a most complex one, and it will require time for me to investigate anything further. At any rate, I will try and see to it that Armando allows you to stay permanently.'

A weight had lifted and Hermione could almost have wept from joy.

'Thank you,' Hermione whispered gratefully.

'In the meantime, keep your head down and out of trouble.'

Hermione nodded once, the hope that had swelled up inside her still intact. Taking it as her dismissal, she rose from her chair and made her way to the door.

'I trust you know where to go for your next class?' Dumbledore added from behind, a small, knowing smile forming on his face. Hermione nodded, feeling calm for the first time since she'd landed in this godforsaken era.

* * *

Hermione stood by the door wishing the ground would swallow her up.

Defence was held on the same corridor as in her time. After a few mistakes, she'd finally found the class she was meant to be in. Now all eyes were upon her. She saw confusion and curiosity grow among the sea of students before her. It was a Hufflepuff and Slytherin class. She spotted Voldemort at once; he was sitting at the front of the class and looked the most relaxed and confident out of everyone. He flashed her a smile, small and inviting. Hermione's stomach twisted into a knot.

'Miss Lefevre, welcome,' called out Descipio from the front of the class. 'So glad you've come. Come, come, we've saved you a seat.'

Hermione's heart sank as she saw where her seat was. Voldemort had drawn out her chair beside him and had stood up to give her space to sit down. Whispers broke out as she made her way towards the front. Avery and Mulciber were seated towards the back of the classroom, and were looking at her with blank expressions. Lestrange was sitting closer to the front next to a Hufflepuff girl. There was a predatory glint in his eyes that set her teeth on edge.

She took her seat next to _him_ and kept her attention rigidly on Descipio, who was beaming at her. He waved his wand and an assortment of textbooks appeared in front of her. They were the same textbooks she'd been assigned back in her time, although they were much less frayed around the edges.

'We were just about to commence a practice duel as a sort of fun, start of term exercise. Don't worry, nothing too advanced. You will pair with Mr Riddle here. I assume you've had some experience in contentious magic?' he added with a knowing smile.

Hermione stilled like a deer in the spotlight.

_What? _

_A duel? With Lord Voldemort? _

Hermione's mouth became very dry all of a sudden. Before she'd even had time to formulate half a thought, there was a grating sound of scraping chairs as the students stood up to begin preparing for the duel, breaking out in conversation. Hermione felt her legs move and walk her towards the centre of the room, feeling very much an automaton. Descipio waved his wand and all the tables and chairs sprang to the sides, leaving a wide space for the students to duel. With a barely concealed groan, she saw Lestrange making his way towards her. She looked around desperately, hoping to find an innocent looking group of Hufflepuffs to hide behind. Instead she saw Voldemort talking to a very pretty Slytherin girl. She was laughing at something he'd said, her thick, undulating dark brown hair rippling behind her as she did so. Her skin was golden brown and she was graced with a strong jawline and a slender, petite build. She was the most beautiful girl Hermione had ever laid eyes on.

'Hermione!' Voldemort called after her. Hermione reluctantly walked towards them, although part of her was pleased that she'd escaped Lestrange. She saw his crestfallen face from the corner of her eye as she made her way to Voldemort.

'Lila, this is my duelling partner, Hermione Lefevre,' Voldemort introduced smoothly. 'Hermione, this is Lila Shafiq, a fellow housemate of mine.'

'Charmed,' Lila Shafiq said briskly, holding out her hand. Hermione took it quickly. 'You're the new girl, aren't you?'

'Yes,' Hermione replied, surprised at the brusque undertone lacing Shafiq's voice.

'How long are you joining us for?' Shafiq asked, her dark eyes skimming Hermione's form.

'At least two weeks,' said Hermione feeling very much like an ant under a microscope.

'Professor Dippet is sure to extend your stay, Hermione,' Voldemort added in what Hermione assumed was meant to be a kind voice. He turned to Shafiq. 'In the meantime, I have the pleasure of escorting Hermione around.'

Shafiq smiled tightly, the insincerity plastered across her pretty face.

'Well, I ought to be getting back to my duelling partner,' Shafiq said, smiling at Voldemort. Then she turned back to Hermione. 'I'd wish you luck with your duel, but nobody's ever beaten Tom before.'

'There's a first time for everything,' Hermione replied coolly.

Shafiq's surprised reaction mirrored Hermione's internal one. She hadn't meant to retort like that, but the Shafiq girl was being so obviously impertinent it had sort of slipped out. Without a word, Shafiq hurried over to a group of Slytherins, leaving Hermione and Voldemort together alone.

'Everybody ready?' rang Descipio's voice, loud and clear. 'Remember - stick to the spells I've written on the blackboard. If _anyone_ tries to be clever and start chucking anything darker, you'll be wishing for a detention after I'm through with you.'

Hermione clenched her wand. This wasn't war but it sure felt like it. Voldemort never broke eye contact as he bowed. He then raised his wand and without warning cast a non-verbal in her direction. Hermione blocked it with a shield just in time, but not without difficulty. Hermione almost gaped. He'd been slicker than anyone she'd ever duelled in class, his wand movements restrained enough that it was hard to recognise the spell work. He slashed his wand again, this time quicker than before and hit Hermione squarely in the chest, sending her sprawling to the ground. No-one around her noticed; everyone was busy fending each other off, grunting and shouting as they tried to dodge each other's wand work and fire spells of their own. Hermione's heart beat furiously. There was something so sick about what she was being forced to do. She'd watch him and his friends rip apart families and now she had to play fight him.

_Not a chance, you utter ghoul. _

Brandishing her wand, she picked herself off the ground and retaliated with a string of spells, one after the other, barely allowing herself a moment's breath. To Hermione's fury, Voldemort blocked them with ease, his arm only slightly moving in line with the direction of the spells. He returned fire skilfully, not breaking a sweat. A blue stream of magic shot out from his wand, Hermione recognising it as _bombarda._ Rather tame, considering the repertoire of dark magic he'd already amassed under his belt, but then again, he was also the perfect head boy, sticking to the teacher's rules. She deflected it but almost got hit by another torrent of spells in the process, only managing to block them by the skin of her teeth. Rage boiled inside her. The ring began to grow hotter, sending shivers down her spine, but she wasn't paying attention. Her efforts were concentrated on despising the boy before her with every fibre of her being.

She moved her wand in a sharp angular motion, a jet of dark blue streaming from its tip.

_Confringo. _

This time Voldemort was less ready. He repelled the curse successfully but was caught off balance, stumbling backwards. This was the most dishevelled he'd ever seen him so far. His eyes narrowed in disbelief, clearly perplexed at Hermione's use of an unauthorised and extremely dangerous curse.

_That's right, squirm. _

By now Hermione had forgotten she was in a classroom duel. All she cared about was sending a world of pain hurtling towards the teenage boy opposite.

_Reducto. _

Voldemort absorbed the curse with his shield. He was frowning, giving her a warning look as if to say "tone it down". But Hermione didn't want to tone anything down. She wanted to blast the git to smithereens.

_Offoco. _

Voldemort's face was no longer relaxed. He deflected the curse with a loud bang and motioned his wand in a swirl. Red mist streamed out and careened towards Hermione. She saw with anger that it was the _languidis_ spell, which disorientated its victims and turned them sluggish. He was trying to control the situation, she realised, before she got too out of hand. But Hermione was passed any point of reasoning. The ring was was burning into her finger, her skin raw from its touch, and Hermione saw red.

_Contreo. _

A white, blinding light erupted from her wand with such force that Hermione staggered backwards. Voldemort was scowling furiously by now, his frustration and confusion at her antics evident. The brightness of the curse must have disorientated him for a moment because the next minute he was bending down, clutching his shoulder in pain. The curse had grazed him slightly, but it was enough to cause a wound, some blood staining his robes. Voldemort stared at the hand that had been covering his wound and that was now painted red. Hermione stood, breathing heavily. He slowly raised his head, and Hermione did a double take.

His eyes had flashed red.

Without thinking, she whirled her wand. Grey matter seeped from her wand, twisting into vein-like shapes that snaked their way towards Voldemort. They began wrapping themselves around his arms, restraining his movement and entering his ears and nostrils. She saw his eyes watering from her magic's penetration. Suddenly, a spark of pure magic flashed around Voldemort like lightning and Hermione felt the force of her spell collapse around him. Hermione's eyes widened as she recognised his wand movement. She didn't hesitate.

_Expulso. _

The force of her own dark curse hit Voldemort's midstream and multicoloured sparks of magic sizzled in the air. Hermione grasped her wand with both hands, focusing everything she had into overpowering Voldemort's magic. Voldemort's curse was pushing aggressively against hers, advancing ever so slightly towards her. She could see how enraged he was, and it gave her some sense of satisfaction that she'd got under his skin. It was so freeing, to be able to direct all the fury and anguish and unadulterated loathing she had for this man into her magic and attack him with it. She revelled in the burning feeling washing over her, itself acting as a reminder to follow through with her desires and revel in his eventual misery -

There was a sudden blast and she was thrown to the floor. Their stream of magic disappeared instantly. Hermione looked around to see Descipio with his wand out, towering over her.

'Miss Lefevre!' he thundered. 'What the devil was that? I told you to stick to the spells on the blackboard!'

Everyone else had stopped duelling and had crowded around Hermione. Voldemort was also on the floor, having been hit by Descipio's spell too. He was panting slightly, his normally pristine black hair sticking to his pale forehead with the rest of his hair a dishevelled mess.

The reality of what she'd done slowly but surely dawned on her. She looked around at the astonished expressions staring back at her. As her rage began to calm down, she realised that her entire hand was burning in pain and noted in alarm that the ring was smoking, as though it had just been alight.

How much of what had happened had been fuelled by the Horcrux's own twisted desires?

'See me after class,' said Descipio.

But Hermione wasn't listening. Her eyes were locked onto Voldemort, who was staring back at her, anger blazed across his handsome face.


	5. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Thanks so much for all your lovely comments - I can't tell you how much it means to me! I just love the Tomione community. This chapter is long like the last one, so buckle up...!
> 
> Hope you're all well! 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Heathcliff96

Hermione could not tear her eyes off Voldemort. 

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, hard and unforgiving. The remnants of the Horcrux's corruptive magic were still lingering inside of her, nipping at her skin so harshly that it felt raw. It was as though everyone around them had disappeared and all that existed were Voldemort and Hermione, the toxicity of their recent battle burning the air between them. Voldemort had not stopped staring at her either. His incensed expression had dissipated - but his mask had cracked and Hermione had seen what was underneath.

'Miss Shafiq, accompany Mr Riddle to the Hospital Wing.'

Descipio's commanding voice brought Hermione back violently. He was looking straight past her at Shafiq, unwilling to meet her gaze. Hermione felt a pit open up in her stomach.

'There's no need, Sir, it's barely anything' - began Voldemort quickly, releasing his own grasp on his shoulder. A dark pool of liquid had begun to seep through his uniform.

Hermione almost scoffed. _Barely anything? _He had been lucky it had only grazed his shoulder.

'I'm not arguing with you, Riddle. Go now before it gets any worse.'

Hermione raised her head, surprised at Descipio's short tone. Voldemort drew into himself, his face impassive once again. Whispers broke out around them as Voldemort gave Descipio a curt nod. Without a word, he grabbed his school bag and made his way towards the door. Hermione backed away so as to give him space, but didn't manage far enough. As their shoulders brushed together, a familiar pain shot up her hand. The next contact was more violent - Shafiq shoved past Hermione, shooting her a furious scowl as she did so.

Hermione ignored the soreness of her shoulder and hand as she watched their retreating backs. She was aghast at how swiftly she had succumbed to the Horcrux's influence, how easy it had been to lose herself in its malice and emerge a completely different person, one so dissimilar to the cool, level headed witch she had always been.

The sullen silence of the room was deafening. She could feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning mercilessly into her back. She lowered her head and stood still, intent on blotting them all completely from her mind.

Descipio eventually broke the silence. He had since moved away from Hermione and was now barking orders at everyone to reorganise the room. Students were scattering themselves, trying to clean up as hastily as possible before their next class - but the hushed voices and scandalised looks lingered. Amidst the loud banging and clanging of moving furniture that ensued, Hermione continued to stand rooted to the spot. Hot and cold flashes spread across her body.

She ogled the beautiful, cursed sapphire ring on her finger. The surrounding skin was red from when it had singed her, and she could barely feel where its silver band ended and the flesh of her finger began. Revulsion overcame her all of a sudden; with her other hand, she twisted and pulled at it hard to take it off. 

It wouldn't budge. 

Alarmed, Hermione began to tug harder, twisting it and digging her fingernails underneath the metal band.

_Wretched thing...come off, damn it! _

Nothing happened. However hard she yanked, it simply wouldn't slip off her finger. Hermione looked up at the ceiling in desperation, as if the key to solving her problems lay above her. 

'You really were something,' someone murmured in her ear. Hermione turned around with a jump. Lestrange was looming over her with an unpleasant smirk on his face.

_Please go away._

'I didn't mean to,' said Hermione sharply, taking a step away from Lestrange, who was far too close for comfort. Her hand instantly went to her wand. She hated the way she could feel his hot breath on her skin.

'Oh, no, I meant it as a compliment,' he grinned, closing the gap between them again. Hermione clenched her jaw. 'Really, it was bloody impressive. Tom's an ace dueller, you see, and no-one's ever lasted against him as long as you did.'

'Like I said,' Hermione said firmly, edging her way closer to the centre of the room, 'it was an accident.'

'An accident? Come now, Hermione, you're being modest!' he exclaimed in a booming voice. A couple of people turned their heads towards them. 'It's not like you tripped and fell into it. Tell me, have you always been this fiery? You know what they say about the French, don't you?' he added, winking.

'No, I don't,' she replied tersely. 'Now, if you'll excuse me -

She tried to move away as fast as she could, but a few students had gathered towards them and were blocking her path. Lestrange was at her side in seconds.

'If you're into that sort of magic, I could show you a trick or two,' he said in a low voice, grabbing hold of her wrist. Hermione wriggled from his grip and stood around to face him. She'd had just about enough of this entitled prat's attention. 

'For the hundredth time, I didn't do it on purpose -'

Someone scoffed. A blonde, curvy Hufflepuff girl with freckles, red cheeks and an irate expression was standing a few feet away from them. A fellow Hufflepuff boy stood next to her, appearing equally miffed.

'Yes?' Hermione asked impatiently. She wasn't in the mood for anymore ambushes, especially since she was going to get bollocked by Descipio in mere minutes.

'An accident? Do you honestly think anyone buys that?' huffed the girl angrily, eying Hermione with dislike. 'The spells you used take an inordinate amount of concentration. There was nothing accidental about it. Professor Descipio was clear about the spells we could use - there was no need to play so dirty.'

Hermione flushed.

'Tom's a big boy, Jones,' Lestrange drawled, rolling his eyes. 'He doesn't need a spokesperson.'

'I know perfectly well that he doesn't, Lestrange, but it still doesn't make what she did right!' she snapped back.

'You didn't even apologise,' added the other Hufflepuff reproachfully, his voice raised. Even more students were beginning to assemble around them now. A general thrum of agreement filled the space around them. Curiously, Hermione didn't spot any of the other members of the Knights of Walpurgis among the throng.

'I -' began Hermione, and then she stopped. What could she possibly have to say to justify her actions? 

_Well, it turns out your precious head boy will attempt to wipe muggles off the face of the earth, start a devastating war and murder countless of innocent people - so I thought I might rough him up a bit._

'See?' exclaimed Jones, looking at Lestrange while pointing at Hermione. 'She's not even sorry! Why aren't you angrier? You're his best friend!' 

'And as his best friend I can tell you that he would not appreciate this overbearing display of sycophancy -

'That's enough.' Descipio had wandered over to the group crowding around Hermione. 'It's my job to punish Miss Lefevre. Don't you all have lessons to get to?'

A few of them mumbled apologies and scattered, although a fair number continued to glower darkly in Hermione's direction. Lestrange muttered a 'see you later, Hermione' under his breath and he dispersed like the rest. Hermione breathed out a short-lived sigh of relief. 

'Class dismissed!' 

Then Descipio turned to Hermione. 

'Let's go, shall we?' 

Without waiting for an answer, he made for the door and swiftly left the classroom, his emerald cloak trailing dramatically behind him. Hermione followed in his wake, but not before running to the front of the classroom and grabbing her new textbooks. Books should never be left behind.

By the time Hermione had caught up with him, he was already halfway up the stairs. The staircase was overflowing with students making their way hurriedly to their next classes. She spotted a group of Gryffindors and a bout of sadness welled up inside of her, but she locked those feelings away quickly enough. They reached the second floor, and once on the landing, they walked in silence all the way to the far end of the corridor.

Descipio stopped in front of a stone statue of a knight in heavy metal armour and a bejewelled sword, standing proudly in the corner, with one arm and outstretched fingers pointing towards them. He clasped his hand around the statue's and whispered 'loyauté'. The warrior came to life; with a sharp sound of scraping metal, he withdrew his sword from its sheath, and turned around to face the point where the two wall panels intersected. He slashed the air once with his sword, and a wooden door appeared. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed; it was a particularly complex and creative feat of concealment magic.

Descipio walked in without a word, and Hermione followed him. The door shut behind them automatically, the statue returning back to its guarding position. Hermione took a moment to observe her surroundings. The room was medium-sized and circular, and had a strong homey feel to it. There was a handsome brown leather sofa with a few cushions scattered on it, and beside it a coat stand upon which were hung a few spare robes, all bright and glittering and beautiful. The walls were covered with various portraits - Hermione recognised the great French wizard playright Malecrit - and glittering, embroidered tapestries that hung proudly from golden rails. A few embers in the large, wooden fireplace had begun to glow when they'd entered, and soon enough a fire was flickering brightly and emitting a warm glow. A curved glass cabinet stood beside the door filled with an assortment of magical trinkets, photographs and books.

There was also a large, mahogany desk with various newspapers strewn about haphazardly on its surface. Hermione edged closer to it and glanced at the Daily Prophet's headline - "80,000 French Troops Defect to Grindelwald's Supporters". The rest of the desk was cluttered with a variety of writing materials and half-finished letters, as well as two framed pictures that caught Hermione's attention. One was of a beautiful landscape of mountains covered with pine trees swaying in the wind and a small wooden cabin with smoke rising from the chimney - the Pyrenees, if Hermione had to hazard a guess. The other was of a young woman; she was blonde and blue-eyed, with cascading wavy hair and donning a pretty light blue frock. She was smiling softly, and her expression was sweet and benevolent. She couldn't have been more than twenty. 

Descipio immediately went to his desk and sat down, resting his elbows on it and clasping his hands together. With a nod, he motioned for Hermione to take a seat. She sat down, her heartbeat quickening in pace.

'The only reason I haven't reported you straightaway to the Headmaster is because I want to give you a chance to explain yourself,' he began seriously, his brows furrowing. He had a severe look on his face that dampened his usually bright, attractive countenance. She could sense the disappointment dripping off his words. 

'I don't know what came over me, Professor,' Hermione replied in a small voice. Her mind was racing, trying to clutch at any plausible explanation she could provide for her sudden outburst of violence.

'That's not good enough,' he replied sternly. 'The curses you were using - blimey, Hermione, you could have killed the boy!'

'I very much doubt that,' Hermione retorted bitterly.

Descipio gaped at her. 

'I just mean that he seems perfectly capable of defending himself,' Hermione replied, anger beginning to fester. It was intolerable getting told off for injuring Lord Voldemort, murderer extraordinaire. 

'So you think that's a perfectly reasonable justification to casually throw potentially lethal spells, do you?' Descipio exclaimed incredulously.

'No, of course not,' she said wearily. 'Duelling just brought back memories I'd rather not dwell on, and I-I simply lost myself in the moment.'

Descipio stared at her, his expression unreadable. Thirty seconds or so passed without either of them uttering a single word. Then Descipio stood up from his chair and began to pace in front of her, looking very troubled. She'd never seen him so conflicted before.

'I understand, Hermione. Believe me, I do.' 

_Does he now?_

His expression was darker than she'd ever seen it. All traces of incredulity had vanished, and was replaced with something far more tenebrous. 

'Years ago,' he began, his gaze affixed on a point past Hermione's right ear, 'when I was a little older than you are now, I too was involved in a war. It was brutal - I watched many of my loved ones perish at the hands of unspeakable cruelty, while I could do nothing to stop it. The animosity between the Révolutionnaires and the Sangroyal was too powerful to abate.'

Hermione's face turned to pure shock.

'Wait,' she gasped softly, her voice barely above that of a whisper. 'Were you involved in the Parisian Blood Battle? Of 1938?'

'Yes,' he replied quietly. He turned away again. 

Hermione could scarcely believe what she was hearing. The Parisian Blood Battle, so named because it had been triggered by the rise of the magical blood supremacist political group the Sangroyal, had been one of the deadliest wizarding battles of the twentieth century. The Sangroyal had been created in the wake of Grindelwald's escape from the States in 1927. After he'd amassed thousands of supporters in France, some of those members formed the Sangroyal, a political group whose aim it was to abolish France's statute of secrecy and reveal the magical community to muggles. Wizards and witches would then take their rightful place as leaders of the world - the old argument. They had barely won any seats in Parliament until the murder of the young witch Clarisse Beaumont in 1935. She was fourteen when she'd been captured by witch hunters, tortured and eventually hanged outside the French Ministry of Magic. This gave the Sangroyal all the ammunition it needed to build momentum and win a sizeable proportion of seats in the next wizarding election. The atmosphere had only grown more anti-muggle ever since Hitler had begun to persecute witches and wizards in Germany and parts of France.

'I was born in Marseille, but when my parents died I was sent up to live in Paris with my aunt. And shortly after I arrived, tensions began rising between the Sangroyal and people opposed to its ideology. Grindelwald's ideas were spreading like wildfire across Europe, and Hitler's rise to power in Germany was fuelling anti-muggle sentiment. I was enlisted by the Révolutionnaires and, well -

He broke off, taking a deep breath in. 

'Let's just say it's a time in my life I'd rather forget. The only reason I'm bringing it up is because I wanted you to know that you're not alone. That whatever trauma you're going through, it will pass. It may take a long time, but scars eventually heal over. And you'll become stronger for it.'

'Is that why you've been protecting me?' Hermione asked, realisation dawning on her. Suddenly, all Descipio's attempts to cover for her slip ups began to make sense. 'I mean, it was obvious that you weren't convinced with my story,' she continued. 'Obvious to me, anyway.' 

Descipio nodded grimly.

'I could see from the look in your eyes - I just knew. Maybe it was foolish of me; I'm a teacher, after all, and I'm made of strong stuff. But there was something that told me to keep your secret - even though I didn't know what it was.'

A wave of gratitude washed over Hermione.

'In any case, Hermione, I think you ought to apologise to Riddle,' he sighed. 'He's very, _very_ popular and it wouldn't be sensible to be in his bad books.'

Hermione nodded. From the way everyone had been glowering at her after the incident, she already knew she was in hot water.

'And what about Professor Dippet?' asked Hermione. 'What will you tell him? Rumours will spread and reach him, even if you say nothing.'

'True, but you'll find I can be very persuasive when I want to be,' he smiled, his countenance brightening. 'Just leave the details to me.' 

* * *

Voldemort was sitting upright on the edge of a bed in the Hospital Wing, looking impatiently at the clock on the wall. His robes were flung over a chair, and his shirt was completely unbuttoned and hanging loosely over his shoulders. His left shoulder was all bandaged up. Madam Chapman had also given him some sort of dark, unappealing looking potion that lay half drunk on the bedside table next to the bed. Hermione noted with relief that he was alone - Shafiq must have already gone to their next class. Upon hearing steps, Voldemort looked up at Hermione. His eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment, but he gathered himself just as rapidly, an icy mask of indifference settling on his face.

A few moments of silence passed as Hermione racked up the courage to say something. She forced herself to stop picking at her nails - a habit, she noted, she'd only picked up since she'd stumbled into the forties - and opened her mouth to speak.

'I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier,' Hermione began hesitantly. Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to turn around and run, to do anything except degrade herself by apologising to him. 'I don't know what came over me. I guess I'm still not over what I've been through.'

Voldemort sat still, his gaze calculating. Hermione could almost hear his clever mind racing, trying to fit together all the pieces of the puzzle she'd created.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, he spoke. 

'I understand, Hermione,' he said, and with that, the ice in his expression vanished, and was replaced with one of warmth and sympathy. It was instant, slick, smooth, and Hermione was balled over by it. She knew perfectly well that he did _not _understand - or rather, that he didn't want to. She also knew it was highly likely that he was furious with her for having humiliated - yes, he would count her injuring him, the best DADA student Hogwarts had ever seen, in a duel in front of everyone as humiliating - and that he'd suffered a blow he would not treat lightly. But now he was kind and charming and the falseness of it all made her feel wretched. 

'I'm sorry I was so cold before,' he continued apologetically. 'I was just shocked, you see, and I didn't stop to think about why you had acted so violently. I should have taken the time to consider your trauma.'

Hermione could hardly stomach this faux sympathy. Lord Voldemort was _victimising _her, and with every lie he uttered he reduced her to a whimpering, damaged little girl who had lost control. She stuck her hands in her robe pockets and balled her fists.

'No need to apologise,' Hermione replied, forcing herself to smile. 'It was still no excuse. Trauma shouldn't justify violence.'

'In any case, I forgive you,' he said softly, his deep voice dripping with sincerity.

_Lies._

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what else to say. Should she go? Or should she ask about his injuries? She had caused them, after all.

_Rightly so. _

'I hope it doesn't hurt too much,' she said, loosely pointing towards his bandaged shoulder.

Voldemort's jaw clenched slightly at her words.

'Not at all,' he said briskly. The change in tone did not pass unnoticed by Hermione. Even at this age, it appeared that the Dark Lord did not like to linger on his mortality. Hermione remembered Lestrange's words earlier in the classroom - he seemed to have been trying to steer the conversation away from Voldemort's fragility. And none of the other Knights had approached her about the incident either. 

'Good,' she replied. She glanced up at the clock above their heads. 'I should be getting back - I'm already late for the next lesson.'

'Ah, Herbology. You'll tell Professor Lillywhite I'll be late, won't you?'

'Of course,' Hermione nodded, thanking the Lord that this stilted conversation was coming to an end.

Voldemort smiled, his eyes as cold as ever.

* * *

For the next few days, Hermione kept her head down. She followed Voldemort dutifully around the school, sitting next to him in class and with his friends at breakfast, lunch and dinner. The only moments she felt relatively safe was during Transfiguration. Dumbledore was a soothing presence, a consistent reminder that there was at least one person batting for her, and she didn't miss the occasional twinkle of the eye or reassuring smile thrown her way. The coldness between Voldemort and Dumbledore was definitely present - it was there in the glances Voldemort would throw Dumbledore when he thought no-one was looking, or the cool way Dumbledore would react whenever Voldemort answered questions correctly.

Aside from this, she mostly concentrated on avoiding the weary looks of those who had been present in the now infamous DADA class. Rumours had spread far and wide enough that people would stop their conversations to stare at her whenever she passed them. Even the teachers gave her funny looks. Hermione knew logically that as with all rumours, they would eventually die down with time - but any unwanted attention was dangerous for Hermione, however brief, especially now that she was under a mysterious someone's radar.

On the rare occasions she could find time to herself, mostly when Voldemort attended to his head boy duties, she'd run back to the guest dormitories and attack the pile of books she'd taken from the library. As she sped read and flicked through the yellowing pages of the texts she'd stolen, she'd catch sight of the dreaded ring now stuck to her fourth finger. She felt sick every time she saw it. A part of Voldemort's twisted soul was permanently attached to her body; not only was this in itself horrifying, but it also meant she had little relief from the weight and toxicity that the Horcrux emitted on those wearing it. It was like lugging around a boulder on her back. It didn't help that the books weren't providing her with anything useful either.

The weekend finally arrived, to Hermione's utter delight. Dumbledore had even given her permission to go to Hogsmede. Voldemort thankfully had a host of headboy duties to attend to - what exactly, Hermione had no clue nor any interest in finding out - and since Dippet was still away on urgent business, Dumbledore had allowed Hermione to go unescorted. 

So on a brisk, sunny Sunday afternoon, Hermione set off for Hogsmede. Unfortunately, she only had her uniform to wear - although it _had_ been washed and pressed by Hogwarts' house elves, much to her chagrin. Still, she was grateful for this one moment of peace and serenity away from Voldemort and his creep squad, and she was planning on revelling in every moment. As she made her way towards Hogsmede, she pictured all those times her, Ron and Harry would go together, jabbering excitedly about all the delicious treats they'd bulk buy in Honeydukes. Fizzing Whizzbees, Acid Pops, Ice Mice - enough sugar to make your teeth rot and make your dentist parents go berserk.

Once on the main street, she immediately searched for Gladrags Wizardwear. She needed to buy a bag on which to perform the undetectable extension charm so she didn't have to lug around heavy books and draw attention to their titles. She spotted it and entered, quickly scanning the shelves for something similar to her purple beaded bag she'd left back in the nineties. Unfortunately, there was a limited selection of products to choose from, so she eventually settled for a grey, non-descript bag with a drawstring. Dumbledore had authorised a limited grant for her to use and so she paid with the money from that, and left soon after.

Now that she had her bag, she sought a quiet place to think things through. She saw Tomes and Scrolls and made a beeline towards it. In the nineties, it had always been the least populated shop in Hogsmede, and while she normally hated how people overlooked bookshops for other, more aesthetically pleasing places, for once she hoped it was empty.

The door opened with the ring of a bell. It seemed mostly deserted, except for the elderly shopkeeper, who was busy rummaging through draws behind the front desk to even notice Hermione had come in. She ventured further along the tall shelves until she found a corner far enough from the door. She settled down on the carpet and opened up the Concept of Time. She breathed in the smell of the pages, and a small wave of comfort washed over her. Books had always been her friends, and this was equally the case in the forties as it was in the nineties. At Hogwarts, she'd always manage to snag the comfiest chair in the library and settle down with a mountain of tomes on the table beside her, and all her anxieties would dissipate. The situation here was different, but it was amazing how that sense of comfort and familiarity came rushing back as she turned the pages, seeking out new knowledge to absorb.

The shrill sound of the doorbell interrupted Hermione's trip down memory lane. She tensed as she heard a bunch of footsteps and voices enter the shop.

'- Binns set us so much work, I don't know how I'll find the time to do rounds this evening -'

Hermione didn't recognise the voice. In any event, she didn't feel like being seen by anyone. She was just about to jump to her feet and move deeper into the bookshop when a herd of footsteps came rushing round the corner.

'You!' 

Hermione peered to her side. Standing over her were a group of Slytherins, all glaring at her furiously. Shafiq was among the throng. Hermione's irritation soared higher.

'Can I help you?' Hermione asked coolly, not bothering to rise to her feet. She clasped her wand tightly - she'd had enough private encounters with Slytherins to know that the possibility of being cursed was never too remote.

'As a matter of fact, you can,' retorted Shafiq, eyeing Hermione with distaste. 'You do realise how close you were to badly injuring Tom, don't you?'

_This again._

'I already apologised to him,' she huffed, slamming her book shut in annoyance. 'He accepted it and that was that. Move on.'

'Tom would forgive his own murderer,' Shafiq snapped back. 'Just because he's forgiving, doesn't mean the rest of us have to be. He's our friend and you nearly maimed him! It's a wonder you're still here - this sort of recklessness shouldn't be tolerated at Hogwarts, least of all by an outsider like you.'

Hermione's blood boiled. Outsider? How many times had she been made to feel like she didn't belong, as though her less than pure heritage made her any less of a witch? As if the fact that she'd always ranked top of her class and consistently helped save Harry, Ron and the whole of Hogwarts from undercover plots, even getting herself petrified in the process, meant _nothing_, all because her blood, blood she'd spilled for the Wizarding World, was the wrong _type._

Hermione belonged to Hogwarts more than anyone. 

'I don't need to be lectured by the likes of you,' she spat back, springing to her feet in rage. 'Now leave me alone.'

Shafiq gawped at her, and for a moment, Hermione saw a flash of genuine hurt darken her features. Hermione stared back, confused. To be sure, it hadn't been the kindest thing she'd ever said to someone - but it hadn't been any meaner than Shafiq's comments. Her other friends scowled at Hermione with pure disgust.

'You bitch!' yelled one of the boys standing behind Shafiq, a short blond with a large nose and beady eyes. He waved his wand in Hermione's direction. 'How dare you speak to her like that? I'll show you -

'Damascus, don't!' shouted Shafiq, prizing the wand away from him and holding it with her other outstretched hand. 'Don't be stupid. She's not worth it.' 

'But Lila -

'Leave it,' she said forcefully. 'Let's just go.' She turned around to give Hermione a withering look, and then forcibly ushered the others towards the door.

Hermione stared at the door for a while after it had shut and the bell had stopped chiming. That had been one of the most bewildering interactions she'd had yet. Shafiq's pained expression kept coming back to her, as clear as it had been in the moment. 

_Focus! _

Hermione shook herself out of her musings. She had more pressing matters than the sensibilities of Slytherins to attend to. Her mind flitted back to the memory of the dark, shadowy figures in the library. She couldn't be sure that they'd been talking about her, but it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. And what was it the second man had said?

_"His Lordship knows I only seek to preserve our movement..."_

Movement...Whatever her involvement, it was clear that she was only a small piece of a much larger and more convoluted puzzle. Something darker and larger was at work behind the scenes. Hermione felt uneasy. Surely mention of any movement in 1944 could only refer to Grindelwald's blood purists?

_"But the girl..."_

It was obvious that her arrival had alarmed both figures. As though her very presence had been an interruption - of what, she had no clue. She had the bare threads of a theory, but nothing concrete. What was doubly frustrating was that she'd never come across anything sinister occurring at Hogwarts in 1944 in all of her rereads of Hogwarts: A History. Apart from Dumbledore's eventual standoff with Grindelwald, Hogwarts had been relatively untouched by the events occurring in the Wizarding World at the time - unlike the Second Wizarding War. Images of Ron and Harry being killed flashed before her and her mouth turned dry. How much had she already changed in the future merely by her presence in this new time? Every moment spent in the forties only increased the risk of catastrophic future change.

Hermione blinked rapidly. _Come on, Hermione, _she chastised herself. _This is no time for any melodrama. _Now was the time for logical thinking and following up on a lead, however flimsy that lead appeared. If something sinister was going on in the background, then it was unlikely that many people knew about it. She briefly considered telling Dumbledore, but discarded the idea as unwise - he already knew too much about her situation, and she didn't want to risk the timeline, not when there was still a chance she could uncover the issue by herself.

But what other source of information was there? Who could she ask that had their ear to the ground and do so without raising suspicions?

And then it hit her. She slapped herself on the forehead for not realising it sooner. Without waiting to formulate another thought, she sprang up, grabbing her books and stuffing them into her new bottomless bag, and ran out of the shop as fast as she could, the bell ringing behind her. She bolted in the direction of Hogwarts; she almost tripped over her feet as she raced past what would in the future be known as the Shrieking Shack, and threw herself down the hill that would eventually lead towards the Forbidden Forest. 

She reached her destination after what seemed like an endless sprint. Hermione was not a natural athlete; she bent over wheezing and tried to push back against a bout of nausea.

After a little while, she straightened herself up. She looked up at the wooden hut that she, Harry and Ron had been inside so many times, and knocked on the door.

* * *

The door opened.

'Hagrid!' Hermione whispered.

Her breath came out in stutters. A fifteen year old Hagrid with plump rosy cheeks stood in the doorway. He was considerably shorter than when Hermione had known him. Hagrid's dark, brown curly hair only reached the back of his neck, and he was mostly clean shaven. He was wearing long, muddy robes and a burgundy jumper underneath, with black trousers that covered thick black boots. Hagrid stared at her blankly. 

'Hullo there,' he said. 'Can I 'elp you?'

He was staring down at her with a completely blank expression, and it filled her up with grief. Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears. The last time she'd seen him was at the Battle after a whole year without contact. To see him now, staring at her without a flicker of recognition was too painful to bear. 

'Yes,' Hermione said eventually, swallowing hard. 'My name's Hermione. I was wondering if you could help me with something.'

'I dunno if you should be 'ere, is all,' he said uncertainly. He peered past Hermione up towards the looming shape of the castle. 'I'm not welcome there anymore, see.'

'I know, but I really need to speak to you...I promise I won't be long!'

Hagrid looked nervously at her. How long had it been since he'd had visitors? It was already two years since he had been wrongfully accused of setting Aragog on the victims of Voldemort's basilisk, and even before then Hermione doubted he had been particularly popular. The Wizarding World had never been the most accepting and tolerant place. 

Hagrid eventually nodded, and beckoned her inside his hut. It was practically the same place she'd visited those countless times at school. The fireplace was roaring, and there were hams and pheasants and other poultry hanging from the ceiling. There were differences, of course, but the atmosphere was very much the same. With a jolt, Hermione realised that Fang wasn't there. 

'You can sit down,' said Hagrid.

'Thank you,' she replied, taking a seat at the table. The last time she'd been here was in sixth year, with Ron and Harry in tow.

There was a small lull. 

'Do you want some tea?' 

'No, I'm fine, thank you,' she said instantly, blinking away the tears before they ran down her cheeks. She would have to tread carefully here. It was important that she retained as much information as possible about her current situation. Hagrid was one of the kindest, most loyal people she'd ever met - but secret-keeping was not exactly his forte, and she couldn't risk giving him insights into her future. No, she would have to settle with telling him a few white lies to coax the information she needed out of him, as much as it pained her to do so. 

'Alright then,' he said awkwardly, standing by the edge of this stove. Then he added 'I haven't seen you before. You look like you'd be in seventh year or summat.'

'I'm a transfer student,' Hermione smiled weakly.

'Oh? From where?'

The conversation was entering dangerous territory and Hermione needed to steer it away towards a safer topic. She mumbled something vague about being homeschooled and before he could ask anything else, cut quickly to the chase. 

'I came here to ask you something,' she began, her words rushing out of her like a waterfall. 'I've heard - well, Professor Dumbledore said that you'd be a good person to talk to -

'Professor Dumbledore sent you?' he asked, his lips parting into a slight smile. 

'Yes,' she replied breathlessly, biting into the lie. 'We're very close' 

'He's a good 'un, is ol' Dumbledore,' Hagrid continued, settling down on the chair opposite Hermione. He'd brought with him a tray of rock cakes, freshly hot from the oven. Hagrid had never been the best cook, but it was comforting to breathe in the scent of his signature dish. 

'Yes, he is,' she said, nodding her head in frantic agreement. 'He trusts you a lot, Hagrid. I hope you know that.'

Hagrid reddened at her words.

'Oh, I dun know 'bout that, Hermione,' he said rapidly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as though there were something particularly interesting about it. 'I've made stupid mistakes, I have...'

'We all have, Hagrid, believe me,' Hermione said firmly. Hagrid looked back at her, his expression softening. 'In any case, he sent me here to ask you if you'd been hearing anything strange of late. Maybe you've noticed people you don't recognise or acting oddly?'

Hagrid's hand hovered over his cup of tea, his brow knit in concentration. Hermione's feeling of hope began to dwindle. 

'I haven't seen anythin' directly,' he began, taking a sip from his cup of tea, 'but now that I think about it, Arag - my friend, he told me recently that there's been summat going on in the Forbidden Forest. The centaurs have been sayin' the same thing too - they like to talk yer ear off once they get goin'. Some talk about intruders in the forest and whatnot. It's not usual for humans to venture in the forest, you see.'

Upon hearing this, Hermione sat up straighter.

'Really, you'd best be off askin' the ol' centaurs,' said Hagrid, as he placed a rock cake in front of her. 'I've been hearin' rumblins that summat was goin' on, but tell you the truth, I just try to keep outta trouble nowadays. Dun want nothin' to get me kicked outta Hogwarts for good.' 

Hermione clenched her fists under the table, the metal of the ring digging into her skin. Her hatred for Voldemort rose to new levels just then - the injustice of Hagrid's situation was really intolerable. 

'You alright there?' 

'Yes, all fine,' she mumbled quickly, forcing herself to calm down. She twisted the ring on her finger as she was accustomed to do now whenever she was nervous. 'Would it be okay if you introduced me to these centaurs?'

Hagrid scrunched up his face in discomfort.

'Oh, well, they're not too fond of humans, you see,' he sighed, shaking his head. 'Not too fond of givin' straight answers either. I swear, you could ask them for the time and they could prattle on for 'bout a week.' 

Hermione smiled weakly at that. She was no stranger to the centaur's infuriating habit of skirting around questions and providing riddle-like answers. 

'But surely it would be alright if you took me there?' Hermione pressed, ignoring the guilt of pressuring him bubbling up inside. 'Professor Dumbledore did say you could assist us hugely in this matter.' 

'I suppose if Dumbledore said so...' Hagrid trailed off, seeming a little less unsure but still nervous. He glanced up at the clock hanging above the stove. 'If we want to speak to the centaurs, we'd best go now. It's gettin' late.' 

It was already seven o'clock, Hermione noticed with a start. The sun had already set, and she didn't fancy staying in the Forbidden Forest too long after dark. She nodded her head in agreement.

'I warn you, though, they're about as transparent as a black box,' Hagrid added, as they both rose from their seats. He grabbed an enormous torch, presumably to light their way through the forest, and both he and Hermione headed towards the door. The evening air was crisp yet not too cold, and Hermione was only too happy to breathe it in. They began to head towards the Forbidden Forest, walking past Hagrid's famous pumpkin patch along the way - the pumpkins had already grown to a humongous size, although Hermione knew they would only grow larger. It was a short walk to the edges of the Forest, but the air had already begun to grow cooler the closer they got.

'Here we are,' Hagrid announced as they reached the edge. The forest appeared as it always did - dense and dark, it snuffed out even the slightest ray of light coming from the sky. Mist had already started to ascend, and she could hardly see more than ten metres ahead. 

'You sure 'bout this? The centaurs roam deep in the forest and it'll take us a good half an hour to get there.' 

'I'm sure,' Hermione said in a determined voice. She took out her wand and conjured a light source. She'd braved monsters far worse than anything the Forest could throw at her. 

'Let's go then.'

As they ventured deep into the Forest, the last few vestiges of light were swallowed up by the thick, monstrous barks of the trees and the mist covering most of the ground. Their gigantic roots snaked along the hazy ground in twisting, grotesque shapes that would make you trip unless you paid close attention. Hermione clung onto her wand tightly, shivering from the cold. The occasional hoot of an owl could be heard, but apart from that, it was dead silence, the complete lack of wind creating a stifling and tense atmosphere. Hermione and Hagrid didn't speak much - he'd warned against drawing unwanted attention, and Hermione was only too happy to oblige.

After a good half an hour walk, Hagrid stopped in his tracks. They'd reached a clearing among the trees; motioning with his finger on his lips to keep quiet, he creeped his way right up to the edge of the clearing, and called out.

The surrounding area was still and quiet. Then came a sudden movement of hoofs and a centaur with blond hair and blue eyes burst out into the clearing, charging towards Hagrid.

'Wait, Firenze!' cried out Hagrid, lifting one arm to shield himself and using the other to push Hermione behind him. 'It's me!'

'Ah, Hagrid,' Firenze huffed, lowering his hoofs and backing away a few metres. 'I've told you to send a message before coming here. And I see you brought a human,' he added, looking curiously at Hermione.

'I insisted on coming,' Hermione broke in, not wanting Hagrid to get into anymore trouble.

Firenze continued to observe Hermione, his sapphire blue eyes gleaming in the dark. 

'Where are the rest, Firenze?' asked Hagrid in a loud voice.

'Off hunting,' Firenze replied dismissively, waving an arm casually behind him. 'I did not feel like joining. Bane was in a particularly brittle mood.'

'Isn't he always?' muttered Hagrid under his breath.

'So, Hagrid,' said Firenze, pawing at the ground with a hoof, 'I assume you have not come here for a social visit?'

'I wanted to ask you something,' Hermione said timidly.

'Centaurs are ancient creatures,' began Firenze, gazing upwards. A few stars were visible through the gaps in the trees, looking like painted white dots in the sky. 'We align ourselves with the heavens - we interpret the stars and the planets and we do not interfere with what will come to pass.'

Hagrid rolled his eyes, and nudged Hermione on the side as if to say 'told you so'.

'Erm, okay,' Hermione replied, unsure how to respond. 'Well, I was wondering whether you'd been hearing anything odd happening at Hogwarts. Hagrid mentioned you'd noticed disturbances in the forest.'

Firenze pawed at the ground again, this time harder. 

'The forest is home to many creatures, each of whom has a distinct impact on their surroundings' he said vaguely. 'What do you suppose a disturbance is?'

Hermione began to grow increasingly frustrated.

'I don't know,' she exclaimed impatiently, throwing her hands up in the air. 'Have you heard talk of a political movement gathering momentum in Hogwarts? What about any suspicious people you've come across?'

'I haven't heard of any 'movement',' Firenze replied, 'but for the past few months, we have been experiencing...increased activity, shall we say, among these hallowed woods. Magorian swears he saw a group of humans gathering together in the far corners of the forest a couple of months ago.'

'Did Magorian catch who they were?'

'No, they were cloaked in black and the forest mist was covering most of them from sight. But that is not the only strange thing of late. I have seen things too. There have been magical disturbances in the air, young human. The very soil itself has become corrupted. Look around,' he breathed, 'the trees are ill and the wildlife hides from sight.'

Hermione craned her neck and moved her wand in a semi-circle, illuminating parts of the forest. The trunks of the trees appeared charred - she concentrated the light source on one bark in particular and could detect slight traces of disease beginning to form in the shape of bluey green splodges.

'What do you suppose could affect the forest in this way?' Hermione whispered, her heart thumping with anticipation.

'Pure chaos.'

'What do you mean by that?' asked Hermione, confused.

'I mean precisely what I say,' spoke Firenze loftily. 'I saw it with my very eyes. What do you imagine could change the very fabric of these enchanted woods?'

'Something incredibly powerful,' Hermione answered. 'It would take a person a lot of magical energy and skill to do so.'

'Why do you assume it to be the result of human craft?' Firenze asked, cocking his head to the side.

'Well, what else could it be? You yourself said that there has been increased human activity -

'Magical chaos comes in many forms,' Firenze said. 'And this branch was pure, unrestrained, _sizzling_.'

'Surely you must have seen someone cast a spell or a curse -

'Centaurs are most observant creatures. When I say there was nobody around, I am not mistaken,' Firenze said firmly.

Hermione stood tacit and pensive. Could this be in any way connected to the two mysterious figures she'd seen in the library? And, more importantly, what was her role in it all?

'A storm is coming, young human,' warned Firenze. 'I would advise you to find shelter.'

* * *

It was late by the time she got back to the castle. Hagrid had cooked her a pheasant as a quick dinner, and by the time she'd left it was already eleven o'clock. She'd cast a disillusionment charm - those were becoming a pretty normal occurrence - and was overlooking her shoulder as she creeped back into the castle, careful to not make a single sound. For the first time since she'd landed in the forties, she was onto something - exactly what it was, she still wasn't sure, but it was enough that a flare of hope had sparked up inside of her.

She had just reached the foot of the stairs leading to the first floor corridor when something made her stop. A ball of light was floating up the stairs in a perfectly straight line. Hermione soon realised that it most likely was being conjured by a wand - the ball of light was identical to that emitted by her own wand, and it was the most likely explanation given that it was late and student curfew was in place. Which meant that there was at least one other person roaming about the castle at night. Someone who, like her, was under the effects of a disillusionment charm and who didn't want to be caught. Hermione immediately extinguished her own light, lest she be seen, and crept closer.

As she neared, however, she noticed that she wasn't hearing only one pair of footsteps. Clearly, there were multiple people sneaking about. They were unlikely to be teachers, given that they could wander around whenever they pleased. Unless, of course, they didn't want to be seen for other more nefarious reasons. Her mind wandered to the two figures she'd spied on in the library.

Could it be them?

Hermione had made up her mind to follow them before she'd even admitted it to herself. For all she knew, these hidden figures could lead her to the answers she'd been seeking. And she was a Gryffindor - it took a lot to scare her off.

Whoever they were continued to climb the staircase until they'd reached the seventh floor. Hermione could barely keep down her excitement. They were surely going to the Room of Requirement, where all her troubles had begun? She was on the cusp of something, she was sure of it. Hermione made sure to keep her distance - one false move and they'd know she was here.

The light caster was now pacing in front of the entrance to the Room of Requirement, the ball of light going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Hermione watched with baited satisfaction as a door materialised. Entering along with the mysterious figures without alerting them to her presence was going to be tricky, especially since she had no real way of knowing how many of them there were. As the door began to close, Hermione sent a blocking spell hurtling towards the door. The door remained open long enough for her to enter and slip to the side before someone bashed it shut behind them with a loud _thud. _

She was in. She kept to the walls, careful to keep to places where it was unlikely where people would linger. Hermione looked around the room and realised with uneasiness that this was not the Room of Hidden things. This was actually the same room where Harry had conducted his DA meetings.

'Okay boys. Reveal yourselves.'

Hermione froze.

She would recognise that deep, melodious voice anywhere. 

The disillusionment charms covering everyone bar Hermione faded to reveal Voldemort, his Knights of Walpurgis, and another person Hermione didn't recognise at first. Voldemort raised his wand towards the door, and sent a locking spell towards it. Hermione's chest tightened; the spell only allowed the caster to open the door. 

She was trapped.


	6. Unmasked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Sorry it's been a while...I promise it's not for lack of trying! I started my new job in September and my computer was in the shop for TWO WHOLE MONTHS. Still, I'm so glad I'm able to put this chapter out for you all. 
> 
> This is an intense chapter so please bear that in mind. I direct you to the labelled warnings above, so proceed with caution. Also if there are any typos or any editing notes please forgive me. I just want to get this out for you - I will edit anything major once I've reread it (which I have done btw 100000000 times so hopefully it's all right!)
> 
> Hope you're all well - I know it's been a pretty trying year, but hopefully the vaccine will be ready soon!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Heathcliff96

The feeling of being trapped was not new to Hermione. As a young witch, she had consistently found herself trapped between conflicting emotions. Perpetually pulled between the rule-abiding, authority respecting, desperate to please part of herself; and the other more intuitive, daring side that was at once completely attuned with her Gryffindor spirit and yet simultaneously at odds with it. Her new life as a witch, too, had proved to be less liberating than she'd first anticipated. The Muggle and Wizarding worlds were both her home, and yet she was a stranger in both, too magical and not magical enough, never truly conforming to the contrived idea of what a witch or muggle should be. And of course, she had literally been trapped; trapped by snatchers in the woods, trapped in Gringotts as she, Harry and Ron tried to steal the Horcrux and make their escape, trapped by Bellatrix in her iron grip as she'd sliced Hermione's skin open with a razor-sharp knife...

But right then, in the Room of Requirement, was a feeling of being trapped she'd never encountered before.

No, she thought, as she peered at Voldemort and the newly-formed circle of Knights surrounding him. This was something _new_.

The Knights were all cloaked in black robes that spilled out onto the flagstone, their downcast faces obscured by their hoods. Each held a lit wand before them that created a shimmering halo of light around their leader. Standing in the middle, with parts of his face illuminated and the rest of him encased in darkness, Voldemort looked more imposing than Hermione had ever seen him. Shadows pooled at his feet and swallowed the ends of his robes so that he looked taller than ever. The light from the surrounding wands made his skin appear to glow; an ethereal beacon of power that absorbed anything and everything in its path. His expression was stoic - expressionless, even. But his eyes - those dark, bottomless eyes - glittered with a perverse excitement that filled Hermione with dread.

Hermione pushed back the mixture of revulsion and awe creeping through her body and turned her head away from him. It was then that her sights landed on the sixth person. The figure that had followed the group from the corridor stood outside of the circle, hooded and cloaked, with their head cast down like the others. Hermione examined the figure from head to toe in a futile attempt to catch a strand of hair, a slither of skin, _anything _to give away who they were. Their outfit and murky surroundings, however, shielded whoever it was well from view.

'Gentlemen,' began Voldemort in a loud voice. Hermione jumped in spite of herself, instinctively wrapping her arms around her chest. 'Welcome back from the summer holidays. I have missed you all greatly. I trust that each of you is ready for another year of fun?'

A murmur of laughter rippled throughout the room. The corners of Voldemort's mouth edged upwards.

One of the Knights suddenly lowered his hood, and Lestrange's mass of curly black hair soon came into view. As though on cue, the other knights lowered their hoods too. They were all there: Mulciber, Nott, Avery. Lestrange stepped forwards, breaking up the circle, and walked a few paces towards his master. Standing before Voldemort now, he seemed almost meek - an expression very much incongruous with the look of arrogance he usually sported so well.

'My Lord Voldemort,' Lestrange began in a booming voice. Hermione balled her fists. She knew from Harry that Voldemort's followers had already started calling him by that name during his school days; but it was still sickening to hear out loud the complete and utter _adoration_ with which Lestrange had uttered it. 'We all cannot wait to begin your great work. This year will surely be our best one yet!'

'High praise indeed, coming from you, Imicus,' Voldemort replied. Hermione saw Lestrange's cheeks flush pink with pride.

'I admit, I too have been looking to our meetings with great anticipation,' said Voldemort, as Lestrange stepped back to his place in the circle. 'For you see, I have prepared something rather special for my trusted and most noble Knights.'

The room practically buzzed with excitement. Hermione looked uneasily over at the cloaked figure outside of the circle, and clasped her wand tightly.

'Come forwards.'

To Hermione's dismay, the cloaked figure moved at once, slowly but purposefully. Whispers echoed throughout as whoever they were walked towards them, the sound of their shoes clacking against the hard floor. The circle parted to make way for the figure, who stopped just before Voldemort.

'You may lower your hood.'

Pale hands reached up and pulled down the obscuring piece of material.

Hermione's mouth fell open.

Viola Evergreen.

'Our illustrious head girl,' sneered Voldemort. The room exploded with raucous jeering. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to steady herself in spite of the sick feeling building up in her stomach. Even in the dim light, Viola Evergreen's uncovered face stood out from the rest. Hermione couldn't prevent a shudder as she gaped at the head girl. She'd only caught a brief glimpse in the Great Hall earlier in the week, but the difference now was stark. Viola's face betrayed no sign of emotion; she stood rigidly in place, staring impassively onto a fixed point somewhere in her line of sight. Her hands hung limply to her sides, loose strands of blonde hair clinging to her pale, clammy face. But even worse were her eyes - they were glassy, _empty, _as though someone had reached into her throat and forcibly removed every vestige of life, of a _soul,_ and had left an empty shell in the place of a girl. The effects of the imperius curse were unmistakable.

'I promised you boys some fun,' Voldemort continued pleasantly. 'And here she is...our mudblood head girl.'

The jeering resumed, although decidedly more aggressively. Hermione tore her attention away from Viola, whose blank expression filled her with trepidation, and instead observed Voldemort. His face appeared amused and content; but there was a stillness to him, not unlike a beast soon after spotting its prey, that set her teeth on edge.

'You see, boys,' Voldemort spoke again, after the jeering had died down. 'You all know of the poison coursing through the very heart of our school - indeed, at the heart of the entire magical community. We have watched for far too long, helpless and pathetic, the falling of Wizardkind to an insidious corruption that if left to fester, would wipe us all out.'

No one reacted this time. The tension in the air was palpable. Voldemort's lips were pressed into a thin line. He had mastered every little movement; the slight quiver of his chin, the rising intonation of his words as he expanded on his rhetoric, the subtle clenching of his jaw. It was like observing a puzzle master at work, watching them carefully place the pieces together one by one until a complete picture was revealed.

And what an ugly picture it was.

'Our magical world, once a beacon of unrivalled power and might, has been forced to cower before the muggles and the mudbloods who would all seek to erase thousands of years of our traditions and values in favour of their own. Values for which, no doubt, your own ancestors would have laid down their lives to protect.'

It was truly agonising, witnessing the ways each Knight's face twisted with malice and pure rage in response to the oh so sweet poison being uttered. Hermione held back tears. She shouldn't be feeling this way, really. This rhetoric was hardly unknown to her, and it should have been even less impactful that it was being spewed out by Lord Voldemort himself. But it was still so strange to see all of this hatred coming from a boy, a teenage boy with jet black hair and a handsome face, and not a fully grown man with waxy grey skin, slits for nostrils and bloodshot eyes.

He was just a boy.

How had this happened?

_Why_ had this happened?

'But just like seemingly impenetrable weeds in an otherwise luscious garden,' Voldemort continued, his voice louder still, his dark eyes glimmering with wicked glee, 'all it takes is for those brave enough amongst us to tear this corruption by its roots, purifying the soil from beneath. I know that you, my faithful and most trusted Knights, are those brave warriors who will restore the might of the magical peoples of this world. For our noble fight will not result in the victory of our enemies, but instead in the restoration of our rightful place as the rulers of earth!'

Loud, raucous applause burst out as shouts and yells filled the room. Lestrange was punching the air with his fists, while the others clapped and yelled, all of their face wild with hysteria. Hermione swayed on the spot, her head spinning from the sheer horror of it all. She felt the hold over the disillusionment charm beginning to peter out. She forced herself to focus on a fixed point on the floor beneath her, breathing in deeply and soon regaining control over the charm. 

_Come on, Hermione._

She steadied herself, and looked up at the scene before her. Among the bedlam, Voldemort stood in its midst, very much the master of the chaos of his own creation. His lips were twisted in a grin so devilish that for a brief moment, he didn't look human. This was his domain, and he was _thriving. _He was the puppeteer and his words were the strings that had wrapped themselves tightly around his followers and made them dance to a tune he had composed.

'Last term, I told you I would school you in the ways of the so-called unforgivable curses,' he began again as the noise eventually died down. 'Our curriculum is lacking, for want of a better word, in this department. No doubt a feeble attempt by our school governors to instil in us a sense of misguided _morality_. But I ask you this, gentlemen - why else should such magic be available to us if not for us to use it? For it is our very birthright, my friends, to make use of the opportunities magic has to offer us. And from my own experience, there's something so invigorating in practising on a living, breathing Mudblood. Although they might not be breathing for long if you play your cards right,' he added, a smirk twisting his lips.

_Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god -_

'So who among you will volunteer, my Knights?' he asked, walking around the inner circle, careful to make full eye contact with each minion he passed. 'Who wants the honour of crucioing a Mudblood?'

Hermione's blood turned cold. 

'Come on, Imicius!' bellowed Nott, slapping Lestrange on the back. 'You're already an insufferable know-it-all in the classroom - let's see you in action!"

The others laughed, Voldemort included. Lestrange smiled smugly, and bowed reverently to Voldemort. 

'If my fellow Knights should feel so inclined, I would be honoured to take up this task my Lord!' Lestrange declared. Voldemort smiled in response, beckoning him forwards with a hand. Lestrange obeyed, positioning himself besides his master so he was facing Viola. Hermione watched with increasing horror as he drew his wand.

'Now, as I said previously, we will be practising the cruciatus curse,' said Voldemort. 'This, my Knights, is one of the most powerful and useful curses you will ever use. As future leaders of this world, it will be up to you to act as its caretaker. And occasionally, this will mean punishing those who seek to do us harm, for the good of wizardkind.'

Voldemort walked behind his stooge and placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Be warned that this is a particularly difficult spell to master. Countless of lesser wizards and witches have dabbled in the dark arts, carelessly throwing themselves into a branch of magic that they have no hope of understanding. For you see, gentlemen, the key to mastering the dark arts goes beyond mere technical ability.'

His words all turned to mush in Hermione's brain - all she could think about was the unenviable choice she now faced. It was inescapable, and she knew that she would have to make it quickly.

'You must harness the power that resides within,' Voldemort murmured. 'All the fury, the rage, the contempt you have for these abominable creatures - you must tap into it, and wield it as your sword.'

Hermione saw Lestrange go rigid as Voldemort leaned in.

'Your hatred only makes you stronger,' she heard him whisper. A predatory glint flashed across Lestrange's eyes. He licked his lips.

'Now say the word. Say _crucio_.'

Hermione saw the words begin to form on Lestrange's lips, and she knew the time for hiding was over.

'Bombarda!' Hermione cried, the disillusionment spell collapsing around her as quickly as she'd uttered it. The spell hit Lestrange squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling ungracefully to the floor with a loud bang. Voldemort looked around, a look of complete astonishment falling on his face as he took in Hermione's dishevelled form. The other Knights spun around too, their wands raised in alarm. Hermione didn't hesitate. She turned towards Viola Evergreen, who hadn't moved an inch in all the chaos and whose expression was still blank and lifeless. With all the magical energy she could muster, she cast a protective bubble around Viola and summoned her entire body towards her with a levitating spell. 

Her upper hand was short lived. A pale green light grew from Voldemort's wand almost immediately and thickened into rope. It flew across the room and wrapped itself around Hermione securing her in place. Viola fell from the air and crumpled to the floor at once. Hermione, now bound by Voldemort's magical restraints, writhed and screamed until she felt herself go hoarse, despite knowing there was nothing she could do. Lestrange sent a disarming spell, and another Knight threw a petrificus totalis. Hermione's limbs snapped together like brittle bone, her muscles contracting painfully as they were forced into position. Voldemort's conjured ropes loosened and she crashed onto the ground next to Viola, the inability of her body to react making the impact all the more painful. Two rough hands soon hoisted her up by the hair and held her in place, and if Hermione could have cried out in pain then she would have. Their hands dug painfully into her side, and she was now in direct eye line with Voldemort. He stood tall and statue-like, staring at her curiously as though her dramatic reveal had been of mere interest to him.

'Well well, what do we have here?' Voldemort said softly, his teeth flashing like fangs in the pale light. His wand was outstretched, but he appeared relaxed. The same could not be said for his Knights; they all were staring at her, shock and outrage plastered across their faces. 'What are you doing here, Hermione? You're not supposed to be wandering around after hours.'

A flash of hot white anger spread throughout her body.

'Answer me,' he commanded. With a wave of his wand, Hermione felt her mouth become soft. She tried to move the rest of her body but her limbs were still stuck in place. 'What are you doing here?'

'I could ask the same of you,' she spat back angrily.

'What, us?' Voldemort asked in mock incredulity, turning around to face his other knights. They all sniggered in response. 'We were just having an extracurricular study group. What with this being our final year, we thought we'd get in some extra practice. Isn't that right, Viola?' He turned to face the head girl, who just stared back lifelessly. The sniggering grew louder. 'Oh dear. Looks like she isn't in the mood to speak at the moment.'

He laughed, the sounds of his deep voice echoing off the walls.

'Let me go,' Hermione yelled, her voice cracking in her fear. 'Let me go or I'll - 

'You'll what? I don't know if you've noticed, Hermione, but you're heavily out - 

Voldemort suddenly fell quiet. His eyes narrowed, and a shadow fell over his face. He approached her, taking large steps until he was directly before her, and grabbed her by the forearm. Hermione felt the ring grow hot on her finger.

'What's this?' Voldemort went deathly silent. Hermione whimpered as his hold on her forearm tightened. He pulled back her sleeve roughly and twisted her arm so that the inner part was facing up towards the ceiling. Fear washed over her as realisation dawned.

The scar. He had seen the scar.

M u d b l o o d. 

'You're muggleborn?' Voldemort asked quietly. His dark eyes bored into hers, the intensity of his gaze suffocating. Hermione stared back, helpless, as the ferocity of his stare morphed into something more feral. 

'Yes,' she whispered back.

Voldemort said nothing, although his grip on her wrist tightened. Hermione swallowed a wince as his fingernails dug mercilessly into her wrist.

'What a splendid idea,' he said suddenly, tugging her forearm painfully so that it was visible to his followers. Hermione could see them all now that their faces were no longer obscured by their hoods. They were unsurprisingly looking at her with pure, unadulterated disgust. 'Gentlemen, I do believe Hermione here has provided us with a way to mark out the mudbloods with very little effort! Just look at this exquisite handiwork...you must tell me the person responsible, Hermione,' he smiled pleasantly. 'Perhaps they would like to join our little group.'  
  
The irony of Voldemort admiring the work of his best and most depraved lieutenant was not lost on Hermione. The room had fallen so silent Hermione could hear her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

Suddenly, Voldemort let go of her arm, and took a few steps back. The ring continued to burn her finger, and she felt tears begin to build.

'I don't like spies,' Voldemort continued pleasantly, as he drew his wand. 'And I especially don't like mudbloods. _Crucio.'_

Hermione barely had time to register the red beam of light that left his wand and hit her right in the stomach.

She was on fire. Every crevice of her body was screaming, begging her to move and let it spasm freely, but the petrificus spell held her firmly in place.

This was pain she had felt before. Bellatrix had already crucioed her in Malfoy Manor, cackling with glee has she had watched Hermione scream until she had nothing left to give. But this...this was something else. It was as though she could feel every individual nerve in her body being torn to pieces, one after the other, as though a hand had reached inside of her and was slowly and torturously peeling her innards. Her blood felt like it was boiling underneath her skin. Invisible daggers plunged into her stomach, repeatedly stabbing her as her frozen head slammed into the ground, over and over again until her skin broke and blood was pouring down her sides and into her open mouth...

She could feel every facet of Voldemort's hatred coursing through her veins.

Both the curse and petrificus did eventually wear off. Hermione lay rigid on the ground face down. It was deafeningly silent all around her, and the sound of her laboured breath rang loudly in her ears.

Then she began to scream.

She screamed and screamed and screamed until she could scream no more. She was in such anguish that at first she didn't even notice Voldemort's hysterical laughter merging with her wails of agony.

'That's how it's done, gentlemen,' Voldemort laughed, showing a perfect set of white teeth. The magical after effects of the curse still lingered around him.

Hermione continued to scream.

'Now now, enough of that. I said _enough_,' Voldemort commanded. He waved his wand again and Hermione's mouth closed up once more. He nodded to Mulciber and Avery, who seized her by her arms and forced her up. Hermione couldn't bear her own weight, and sagged back to the ground. The two thugs held her up again, this time balancing her body against theirs. If Hermione had the strength, she would have vomited there and then. 

'What now? Shall we...dispose of her, my Lord?' Lestrange asked tentatively. His attention was darting between Voldemort and Hermione, with the same perverse glint in his eye that time he had looked at Hermione in class.

'I appreciate your enthusiasm, Imicus, but it would be unwise to draw attention in such a way,' responded Voldemort, still eyeing Hermione intensely. 'No, sometimes less is more, gentlemen. A simple obliviate will do.'  
  
No no no no no -

Hermione shook her head frantically, and began to kick, the lack of physical strength left in her only allowing her to spasm slightly. Anything but that. Anything other than to have her memories ripped away from her, left to the mercy of a psychopath and his cronies without a hope of finding her way back to her own time. The memory of her parents, both victims of her own wandwork, came back with a vengeance.

'Obliviate is a seriously underrated spell,' continued Voldemort. 'Altering a memory correctly takes a great deal of skill, energy and concentration, and the rewards are bountiful. You can literally rewire a person in one fell swoop, mold them to your liking...' here he paused, his cold eyes falling back onto Hermione...'and get away with anything.'

> _She could see her parents's backs as she approached the living room, wand at the ready. They were watching the six o'clock news as they always did after a long day at the dental surgery. She watched with a pang of guilt as her mother reached to her side and lifted up her cup of tea to her lips. Her father's head was slightly cocked to one side, no doubt having fallen asleep as he was prone to do ten minutes into the programme. _
> 
> _Hermione trembled as she raised her wand._

'Now hold still, Hermione,' Voldemort said with a wicked grin. He took a few steps forwards. 'I don't want to miss.'

_No._

Voldemort raised his wand.

_No. Please._

'Obliviate.'

A flash of blue sped towards her.

Darkness.

Darkness everywhere.

Hermione opened her eyes, slowly, one by one. All around her was black. Voldemort and his knights were nowhere to be seen. It was as though she'd landed into a void, with nothing above or beneath or around her. Her feet didn't appear to be grounded on _anything._ Tentatively, she raised her hands and spread them around. The blackness dissipated and bent around her arm, and she soon realised that it was not nothingness that surrounded her, but rather a black _substance. _With a jolt, she realised it looked eerily similar to the black cloud of smoky magic that had filled the inside of the Vanishing Cabinet.

Hermione breathed in deeply. Whatever had happened, she was sure of one thing. Voldemort's obliviate hadn't worked. She exhaled in relief, perhaps prematurely given where she was, or wasn't, but she was just so happy not to have had her memories ripped from her.

She was still thanking her lucky stars when she noticed a faint glow had started to form in the corner of her eye. Reticently, she turned around, very much aware that she didn't have her wand to defend herself.

But whatever Hermione might have thought would be lurking in the shadows, she did not expect what stood - or, rather, floated - before her.

"You!" gasped Hermione. It was unmistakable. Voldemort floated before her, an eerie glow illuminating his handsome face. Except, it _couldn't _be. Voldemort didn't normally glow, and he most certainly did not float off the ground. He looked more handsome than ever; but there was a mischievous sheen in his dark, bottomless eyes and an unearthly shimmer that made him look otherworldly. And he radiated such putrid dark magic that it began to choke her, invading her mouth and nostrils like thick, black smoke...

Perhaps the most shocking thing of all was the sheer power emanating off of the apparition. Hermione felt an unnerving connection towards him, it, whatever it was. The very thought of harbouring any kind of tie with whatever the hell this dark apparition was filled her with...not unease, exactly - she was pretty much tapped out on that front - but a perverse sense of curiosity. The uncomfortable kind that both disgusts and allures. Like the feeling one gets when pressing into a fresh wound, at once both painful and exhilarating.

The ring on her finger was searing hot.

Hermione looked around her desperately, struggling to breathe. The blackness was all encompassing, with no way to escape. It was as though she were trapped in the vacuum of space - except there were no stars to light her path, only what appeared to be a teenage boy with a devilish grin.

'You're welcome, Granger,' he smirked. Before Hermione could open her mouth, the apparition waved his hand and Hermione crashed back violently into the present - or had she ever left? - with Voldemort's wand pressed against her temple. 

She realised her eyes were wrenched shut, so she quickly opened them. Voldemort was still there, the after-effects of magic gone awry crackling in the air. Uncertainty flickered across Voldemort's face as he looked at her intently. The ring grew cold again. With a jolt, Hermione realised the rare position of luck she was currently in.

_He doesn't understand what's going on. _

She had the element of surprise, and by god was she going to make use of it.

Without thinking twice, Hermione punched Voldemort in the face.

Voldemort swore, stumbling backwards and dropping both his and her wand in the process. Hermione took her chance, and grabbed both wands, pointing her own directly at his chest.

'Don't take another step,' she snarled at the Knights of Walpurgis, who had begun to lunge towards her. 'Or I'll make your precious Lord wish he was under the cruciatus after I've finished with him.'

Slowly, the Knights lowered their wands. Lestrange was at the front of the pack, glaring murderously at her. He spat at her, and eventually conceded. 

Hermione ignored him, and turned her attention to Voldemort. His nose was bleeding, and the signs of a bruise were beginning to show. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were blazing with such fury that for a moment she forgot she had the upper hand, and felt deathly afraid.

Just for a moment. Then she remembered precisely who she was.

As she stood before him, panting, and watching with satisfaction at the blood dripping from his nose, staining his perfect, alabaster skin, she recalled all the people in her life that had made her feel like she was nothing more than the dirt under their boots. Malfoy, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Bellatrix...the list went on. And then she brought to mind a promise she had made to herself, long ago, hunched up on the floor in the back of the library after a particular bad taunt from a fourth year Ravenclaw. And that promise had been this: that whatever experiences would come her way, she would not cower before bullies. How could she profess to stand up on behalf of the marginalised and fight for equality in the wizarding world, when every little comment thrown at her stung so deeply? She couldn't - no, _wouldn't - _let them reduce her to a withering, blubbering mess anymore. She was Hermione Granger, she remembered that day, and she was brave and true and good and above all, _resilient._

She had known bullies like him all her life.

Tom Riddle was no different.

'Listen here, Riddle,' she spat, unleashing all the fury and fire she could muster, 'I know you consider yourself to be the most powerful and gifted person to have ever graced this earth. But let me tell you this,' she said softly, edging towards him, wand still armed. Riddle's jaw clenched. 'You've got competition.' 

A few beats of silence passed. They both gazed at each other, a whirlwind of emotions flashing in each other's eyes like lightning.

Then the moment was over. Riddle lunged, throwing his long body on top of her. Hermione yelled in pain as her head hit the stone floor. Riddle grabbed hold of his wand, but Hermione's grip was stronger than he clearly had anticipated. As they struggled, Hermione kicked him in the stomach and he winced in pain. This bought her the precious moments she needed. With her hand still on the handle of his wand, she twisted her arm so that it was in the direction of the door, and she screamed at the top of her lungs,

'RECLUDO!' 

The wand, recognising the caster was not its true master, let out a weak jet of magic, but it was all she needed to open the door that would only unlock with Riddle's wand. She released her grip and cast a protego just as Riddle sent a curse her way. She scrambled to her feet, and cast another shield, this one stronger, as a stream of curses collided against her from all directions. The shield barely lasted three seconds before it collapsed around her and she was flung back against the wall. She slumped against the wall, barely registering her surroundings as Riddle advanced, his knights flanked on either side. He stood panting, his usually perfect hair dishevelled beyond relief. Hermione took in the blood smeared on his face and the bruise under his eye with subdued satisfaction.

'What's the plan here, mudblood?' he smirked evilly, stopping a few feet before her. 'You're half dead and you're outnumbered. Surrender now and I'll make it quick and painless.'

Hermione turned her head towards the door only a few metres away from her. Her head was throbbing and a searing pain was emanating from what she was certain was a cracked rib. The blood tasted fresh in her mouth. What was it Bella had said?

> _‘I do love the taste of blood. Reminds me I’m alive.’_

Had she really come this far to only come this far? 

A familiar sense of calm washed over her. Hermione raised her gaze to meet Riddle's, cold and unflinching.

'I'll tell you what my plan is, Riddle,' she said calmly as she rose to her feet, the rage inside of her a balm to her frayed nerves. 'To burn you alive.'

Then Hermione unleashed hell.

Flames, bright red and yellow, shot out from the tip of her wand. A barrier of Fiendfyre began to spread between her and Riddle, the flames rising higher and higher until they'd almost reached her height. Hermione felt a wave of fatigue wash over her and she immediately recognised the effects of magical exhaustion. The curse she had just used was of the darkest ones out there. It wasn't as simple as conjuring up mere flames. Fiendfyre was more complex than that. The curse ran on nothing short of the caster's pure anger, and it was because of this that made it one the most volatile bits of magic ever to be used. Unlike Crabbe, however, who had barely had the strength to cast it, let alone control the aftermath of the curse, Hermione was able to harness the flames much more effectively. It took all the energy she had to soothe the hysterical anger raging inside of her and channel it in a way that allowed her to control the trajectory of the flames. From the corner of her eye, she could see the knights backing away from the flames she had just sent their way, retaliating with all the spells they could think of. But it was no use - Fiendfyre could only be put out by another dark curse, and there were few and far between that could do the job.

Riddle had scarcely moved from his earlier position. Hermione felt uneasy at his lack of reaction to the chaos she had unleashed. Hermione looked at him, and he caught her eye. Then, without breaking eye contact, he took out his wand, and waved it in the direction of the flames. A light blue shimmer shot out, and Hermione saw in frustration as the ones near to him began to peter out. She shouldn't have been shocked that he would know a curse to rival Fiendfyre, but it was still unnerving to watch.

It was at this moment that a bloodcurdling shriek filled the room. Hermione glanced past Riddle's shoulder, who also turned to follow the sound. A wide-eyed Viola Evergreen stood, paralysed, as flames began to spread around her and lick the bottoms of her robe. In all the chaos, the Imperius curse had worn off. She continued to scream, grappling at her pockets no doubt to draw her wand. Hermione broke out of her reverie - Riddle would have to wait. She pointed her wand at the flames beginning to form around Viola. 

She pictured her family, lost to her forever.

She thought of Ron and Harry, her best friends who were most likely dead.

She thought of Riddle.

Hermione let out a roar, and commanded the flames to move away from Viola. Beads of sweat were building up on her brow, but still Hermione persisted. The flames retreated, and with a final flick directed them towards the rest of the knights. 

'Run!' she shrieked at Viola, who was staring at her with terrified eyes. 'Run! Don't stop running!' 

Viola nodded, and bolted in the direction of the door. Once she was out of sight, Hermione turned back to Riddle. His blue light was spreading in tandem with the flames, ice to their heat. Hermione knew very well that he would be able to extinguish the flames, and that her magical energy was practically spent.

She needed to get out of there, or she was sure she would die. 

Hermione took another cleansing breath in. She knew nothing short of something spectacular would allow her to escape. 

'_Displodo!'_

A great burst of magic erupted from her wand and the whole room shook. She saw Riddle fall to the ground, as did the rest of the Knights. With Riddle momentarily incapacitated, she took her chance. The flames under her control had cleared a path for her to the door, and she ran towards it, praying to God that Riddle didn't curse her behind her back.

She was almost at the door when she heard a high-pitched scream. Hermione turned towards the source of the noise and met a very gruesome scene. Lestrange was on fire - he had clearly fallen into the flames, most likely due to Hermione making the room tremble. Mulciber was holding onto his robes, his own hands being ravaged by the flames, but he managed to pull Lestrange out. But the flames continued to eat at his skin, and he writhed and screamed on the floor, his skin already showing signs of blistering. Riddle, however, had not reacted to the noise at all. He was staring instead at Hermione, not a single emotional reaction detectable across his handsome face. Hermione stared back, unable to look away from him. He finally broke it off, and turned away from her, walking to where Lestrange lay thrashing on the floor. 

Hermione swallowed her uneasiness and leapt over the threshold of the Room of Requirement. Once out, she legged it across the corridor. Her thoughts were mostly a blur, but she knew she couldn't go back to the common room. Riddle knew the password, and there was no telling what he would do to her now.

No, she had to leave the castle. 

As she careened towards the staircase that would lead her to the ground floor, Hermione felt her mind disassociate from her body. Her legs moved, and she simply obeyed. A force bigger and more powerful than anything she could comprehend pushed her beyond her limits, and so she ran - she ran faster and harder than she'd ever ran before. She could barely hear the complaints of the portraits at the inevitable racket she was making over the sound of her own breathing. 

Icy air hit her forcefully in the face as she finally made it outside from the back entrance to the castle. It was bitingly cold, and she could feel the wind cutting her cheeks - but still, Hermione ran. 

She almost fell three times as she sprinted down the hill, gravity doing most of the work. There were moments where she felt herself suffocating as she inhaled large amounts of cold air and forgot to breathe out - so much so was her inability to control even the most basic bodily functions.

But still, Hermione ran.

She ran and ran and ran until she saw finally saw her refuge. The lights were still on and there was an inviting smoke coming from the chimney. She allowed herself a moment of hope and she just about managed to slow down as she reached the pumpkin patch. She banged on the door and didn't stop until it opened. Her energy, having lasted so long, finally gave out then. She staggered into the hut past a bewildered Hagrid, just in time before she collapsed. 


End file.
